


Snow's Promise

by Serie11



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cas destroying stuff on the back of a dragon, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Art, Kings & Queens, M/M, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Sweet sweet revenge, Swords, art included, basically me just ranting about the monarchy (aka capitalism)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 03:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12673566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serie11/pseuds/Serie11
Summary: In the north, Castiel is juggling his new responsibilities of running a castle while mourning the death of his brother. Why was he murdered? When will Castiel get answers? Will Castiel ever find out, or will the mystery haunt him, along with all the other ghosts of his past?In the south, Dean leads the Eagle Guard and strains against the bonds that keep him tethered to Cloudkeep against his will. When will he escape? Or is this all that's left to his life?With one man looking for justice, and another freedom, neither know that they will find it in the other. Especially when by all accounts, they should be enemies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dogsled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/gifts).



 

 

* * *

 

 

When he steps out into the courtyard it is winter, as intimate as he knows it – snow lashes his sides, and ice crystals curl gracefully on his eyelashes, his lips. The cold is a constant this far north, and Castiel knows that the air should cut right through him, even with his layered fur coats, but if it does, he can’t feel it. He hasn’t felt much since the messenger came three days ago, a streaming black banner on his horse that would let him travel with as much ease as possible through the turbulent roads leading to Novakkeep. A black banner meant that the messenger has nothing of value, not even a sealed message of private information that could be sold. A black banner meant that the news delivered was useless, because the subject of said news was already dead.

Castiel took a breath to steady himself and looked over his shoulder. Claire looked more frozen than the ice in the snowdrifts around them. A step behind her, Anna stood, ready to give her support if it was needed. And yet, sixteen and now an orphan, Castiel suspected that Claire would not need it. She had a will of dragon-forged steel that reminded Castiel of his brother.

Castiel led the procession out of the castle grounds and into the woods. Nearly every single person who lived or worked in the castle was attending, leaving Novakkeep with a skeleton staff. In any other circumstance Castiel would have been fearful that they would come back to the keep only to find it taken over by one of the factions that competed in the north, but even some traditions were universally respected. When the lord of a keep died, his enemies showed respect by not taking advantage of his funeral to avail themselves of his possessions.

Finally, the waterfall came into sight. Right now, the water was frozen, iced over in a promise of death if any were stupid enough to brave it. But he wasn’t interested in the river – only the clearing beside it.

Castiel took his place at the head of the clearing. People trickled out of the woods and took their places around the edge of the woods. A nearby bright stain of red caught his eye, but Castiel made no mention of it. He’d sent out a hunting party, in the dawn hour, to clear the path of any that would hunt the people who would make tribute here. Castiel was adamant that they get no more flesh than what would soon be given.

When the only sound remaining was the howling of the wind, and the only movement the spinning of snowflakes, Castiel cleared his throat. Every eye turned to him.

In the crowd, he saw anger, and sorrow and rage – Jimmy had been a good liege, something that had become rare recently. No one had met news of his death without sorrow in their hearts.

“Good people of Novakkeep,” Castiel began. “Today we honour the ancient traditions, and the former lord of Novakkeep. James was an excellent liege lord – he always shared the meat on his table and the shelter of his castle with all who pledged loyalty to the rules of hospitality and traditions of the North. He was known as an honourable man, one who would see no wrongs done under his roof. He tried to do what he could for those wrongs outside of Novakkeep, and was so canny that often he succeeded.” Castiel gulped a breath of air, tasting the clean snow on his tongue. “Please, remember him now, in the fires of your hearts and the air in your lungs.”

Silence overtook the clearing. Claire still looked straight ahead, spine ramrod straight.

“Know that his soul will have a place in the Great Hall, and that with every action you take that he would have approved of, you bring him nothing but joy.”

In some ceremonies that Castiel had attended, the ritual words were just that – words. But here, he saw once again, the legacy that Jimmy had had on the people of Novakkeep. They truly understood that they were poorer for his passing. Castiel could see tears freezing on more than a few faces, the unforgiving winter taking even their grief.

“Bring the body,” Castiel commanded.

Covered in a sheet, the pallbearers moved towards the centre of the clearing. “Tonight, we will feast on this morning’s hunt!” Castiel cried out. “Tonight, we will remember James, the twin of my body, and we will know the strength of our loss! As we feast, let us give back what we have taken! Let us nurture the forest and the life within it, the last gift that he can give us!”

Lowering the body to the ground, the pallbearers pulled the sheet down so that Jimmy’s face and shoulders were visible. Castiel fought the desire to look away, blood pounding in his ears. This was the last time he would ever see him, so he would look – he would absorb the sight of him, as if this were the last drink before a waterless journey. Even if the body before him was twin to his own, even if Castiel could only see himself there (oh, and how appropriate that was – how would he live without Jimmy?), he would still look.

“Pay your respects,” Castiel directed.

The person closest to the trail and furthest from Castiel stepped forward. Castiel recognised him as one of the youngest of the kitchen helpers. He knelt by the body, and Castiel recognised his hands moving in the prayer for the dead. He stood, and walked back towards the path, not looking back. The next person approached – one of the table maids. She knelt, and Castiel watched her mouth move as she spoke to Jimmy. His soul still rested in his body before his final journey to the Great Hall. It was Castiel’s duty to free it. Until then, Jimmy was still aware of what was happening around his body, so all who approached would make peace with him before he left this world.

One after another, the people of the keep approached and knelt by Jimmy’s side. Castiel stood, unmoving, as he presided over it all. He could see the ice on his skin and furs, but he still could not feel it. He wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

Finally, only Anna, Claire and Castiel remained. Anna stepped forward, and Castiel did not begrudge her the time she took to say farewell. As the captain of Jimmy’s militia, they had worked closely together for years, including those when Castiel had been in the south.

Anna stood, and turned, walking towards the path. She didn’t look back.

Claire didn’t move from beside him. “It’s time,” Castiel told her softly. His niece took a shuddering breath.

“I don’t want to,” she admitted. “If I say goodbye, then it will be truly over. He will be gone.”

“His spirit lingers only as to allow us closure, and for him to depart in peace to the Great Hall,” Castiel reminded her. “To keep him here longer than he needs to be would be against the ways of the North, and everything we stand for. Let him go in peace. You will meet again, on the other side.”

Claire stood still for another few seconds, her face so frozen that Castiel had begun to suspect that it was truly carved out of ice.

Then she took a step forward, making her way towards where her father lay.

How long she sat beside him, Castiel could not tell. Finally, her shoulders shook with her sobs. He kept his face still and his breathing calm, even as he grieved with her. He clenched his hand around the pommel of his sword, its eagle hilt digging into his palm.

When Claire stood and left, Castiel stayed in his position at the head of the clearing. He could almost hear Jimmy chiding him for displaying the same behaviour that he has chastised in Claire.

Inevitably, he made his way towards the body. This close, he could see how it had frozen to the ground. Jimmy had been dead for several days, but the icy temperatures had kept his body from decomposing too much, so Castiel could almost imagine that this was another camping trip, and Jimmy had foolishly decided he was too tired to pitch a tent, so he had flopped onto the ground right where they were standing.

“I suppose you had to be first in this, as well,” Castiel said. “First born, first to win a fight, first to marry, first to die. You were always so proud of that, how you managed to succeed where I had failed.” Castiel looked down at his clasped hands. “Here’s something I never told you – I always counted on you to lead the way. Leading by example was how you did things, and you excelled there, like you did in most other areas. I was only too content to follow, until we had that stupid fight.” He sighed. “We were sixteen, just like Claire was now. And I decided the appropriate action was to go and join the Eagle Guard, while you stayed here and became a better leader than I can ever hope to be. All those years I missed with you. Knowing how everything went to shit, if I could go back and choose to stay here, I would. Be lord of the keep with you, like you asked me to. Instead, when I came back with my tail between my legs, you could only have me as your younger brother. I suppose I’m finally getting what I wanted though. To be sole heir, sole lord. It was such a stupid fight. We would have been better together.”

Castiel leaned closer, even though he knew Jimmy had no trouble hearing him. “I’ll make you proud, brother. I’ll lead Novakkeep, I’ll take care of everyone who resides there, and I’ll never give up the Novak land we were born on. I’ll take care of Claire, and one day she’ll be more terrifying than you were.” That made him smile. “I know you didn’t want her learning the sword, but it’s in her blood, just like it is in mine. I knew that the moment I first laid eyes on her. The calling skipped you, but we are kindred spirits. I’ll see that no harm comes to her.”

And finally, finally, he uttered the words that he knew he must. “I know you won’t approve, but I’ll get to the bottom of who murdered you as well. If someone thinks they can take you from this world, I am more than ready to show them how wrong they are. I will avenge your death, no matter what I must do, or who I must slay. I promise you that, Jimmy. My last promise to you. And I promise I won’t break it this time.” Smiling at his wordplay, Castiel removed the sheet from his brother’s corpse. He stared at it, a shiver running down his spine. Even in death, as always, Jimmy still gets the last word.

Jimmy’s warning is stretched across the snow, in how the snowflakes aren’t melting on skin, but instead piling up on top it. It might be his twin’s body, but Castiel could no longer recognise it as such. His own death lay in the snow, unavoidable and inevitable. “Damn you,” Castiel muttered. He can almost hear Jimmy’s sigh in the wind – his acceptance that Castiel would do what he wanted, and Jimmy would have to deal with the consequences. Not anymore, though. Never again.

He pulled his dagger and pricked his thumb, to leave a thumbprint of blood on his forehead. It would be a passageway for Jimmy’s soul to free itself.

In the distance, a wolf howled.

Castiel turned his back on the body and headed towards the path. There was no place for him anymore in that clearing – not yet. Not while he had determination burning under his fingertips and anger smouldering in his heart. Whoever had the audacity to take his twin from the world would regret it before Castiel killed them. He didn’t look back.

He left the wolves to their feast.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean has always hated the winter equinox.

When he was younger, it was always a time when John would demand his sons give a showing to their people, entertainment during the equinox feast and a way to show the strength of the heirs. Now that Dean lived at Cloudkeep, things aren’t much different.

Winterfest is the biggest festival of the year, and Michael liked to have his entire guard dress up and be seen out and about in their full regalia. His formal wear itches, even though it is over the top of his armour. Beside him, Charlie doesn’t look much happier to be wearing the vibrant red suit.

“Do you think they could have put more embroidery on this thing?” Charlie muttered, tracing the gold on her sleeve.

“Maybe if they gave us all capes,” Dean tried to joke. “Oh, wait. They did.”

Charlie snorted. “I don’t even think I could pull my sword out in this, let alone fight someone. Who designed these suits, anyway?”

“I don’t know, and they better be grateful for that,” Dean muttered. “It’s only another two days.”

“Yeah, and I’m already done,” Charlie muttered. “At least it’s warm.”

That was true. It had snowed last night, and there were still some bits of white here and there.

“Captain, everyone’s ready.”

Dean turned to see Benny standing behind him.

“You couldn’t let us enjoy the buttcrack of this dawn for a little while longer?” Charlie asked.

“Unfortunately not,” Benny said gravely. “The buttcrack of this dawn is going to have to let you go.” Benny’s mouth twitched. Dean snorted, and Charlie just started laughing. After a second, both Dean and Benny joined in.

“Okay, okay you two, calm down,” Dean said, still chuckling a little. “We really should get going.”

Benny and Charlie preceded him into the courtyard, his lieutenants checking over the guard to make sure everyone was ready. Dean looked over everyone himself, but found little to argue with – Benny and Charlie were good at their jobs, and Dean didn’t tolerate anyone in the palace guard who wasn’t skilled with a blade or couldn’t follow orders.

“All right, we’ve been over the formations for today, so there shouldn’t be any issues. We’re trying to put on a show, so remember to strut your stuff and do your best to impress, got it?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good,” Dean said, looking over them. “Then let’s get started.”

The city streets were filled with people already, so Dean detoured the party down a few extra streets to remind people that the guard was present and ready to deal with any problems that arose. The arena was their final destination, but Dean wasn’t exactly excited to get there, so he’d delay for as long as he could, with the best reasons he could come up with.

But the tall walls came into view eventually. Dean took a deep breath and Benny jostled his shoulder.

“Hey there brother, it’ll all be fine,” he said lowly. Dean couldn’t bring himself to answer. “You’re still the best in town. No one’s going to be able to best you today.”

Charlie and Benny corralled the guard beautifully, allowing Dean to stand and brood while looking like he knew what was going on. Truly, his mind was on one thing only – the battles he would have to face in the coming hours.

The dreaded trumpets blew, and a roar came from the stands. The sun was at its peak, and half of the winter had gone past. Now it was time to christen the new year with blood, to promote victory and triumph – or at least, that was what Michael was telling the crowds, his criers echoing his words through a carefully memorised speech. Dean gripped the pommel of his sword, wishing he could feel the eagle through his gloves. At least it would have been something real, and not the bullshit reasons Michael came up with to fulfil his sick desires.

Dean nodded to Charlie and Benny, and then turned to salute the guard, who all saluted back. Their faces were grace – they knew that this could be the last time that they see him. Then Dean turned and headed towards the arena, heart in his throat.

In the arena, Dean should have been deafened by the shouts, or blinded by the winter sun. But all he could see was Michael, sitting in his box – Michael’s sharp eyes, keen to see his champion either rise to the occasion, or fail. Dean had been doing this for four years now, and he knew that eventually he would stumble. He couldn’t win forever, and all it would take was one lucky hit. Eventually, he would leave, escape to somewhere that wasn’t this hellhole. But for today, he smiled, he bowed, he gave his cape to the waiting page like this was some sort of legitimate bout. Dean bared his teeth, just to himself – this was a mockery of everything a knight was supposed to be. And it was all Michael’s fault, damn him.

“First bout, Dean of Winchester, versus Giel Thunderarm.”

Dean drew his sword and waited for the horn to sound. His costume was more functional than Charlie’s, but it wasn’t his riding suit or his heavy armour. At least he’d been fed regularly and hadn’t been in the torrid conditions of the cells for months. Winter was when Michael horded his prisoners for, when all the executions happened in one bloody day. Dean rolled his shoulders.

Time to earn his keep.

 

* * *

 

Night had fallen long ago, and Dean had only just managed to extract himself from the revelries.

He’d only killed nineteen people today. Last year it’d been twenty two. And he’d managed to survive it, even though one of them had nearly cut his arm off and another had sliced deeply into his thigh. For hours he’d been praised and fed, like a prized hunting dog. He supposed that was all he was in the end, really. 

Now that most of the patrons in the Great Hall had mostly dozed off into their cups, he could finally escape for a few hours by himself. He still had blood under his fingernails, and could still taste the tang of it, even after eating all the food they could stuff into him. There was a sick sliminess to his mind, as well, but he knew that only time would make that fade.

Michael had _graciously_ added nineteen to his official kill count, making it now more than two hundred. Dean was sick and tired of being his attack dog. Every time he thwarted an assassination attempt, he was so tempted to let it pass through his fingertips – _oh, sorry that one got through. Maybe if you hadn’t been fucking me over for the last few years I might have stopped it._ The ache in his chest grew just thinking about the possibility of Michael being dead. There was nothing else he wanted more.

 _And then what would happen to Sammy,_ a snide voice inside his head muttered, and Dean snarled at it, himself. _I_ know _what would fucking happen. If Michael dies, Sam dies with him. I’m not fucking stupid._

Anger bubbling inside him, Dean stopped by the steams to scrub every last trace of today off his skin. He’d brought new clothes as well, something soft. Anything as a distraction from today.

He skulked across the main courtyard, keeping to the shadows so the patrol on the walls above him wouldn’t pick him out. Dean had become quite good at hiding in the shadows. And he knew the patrol routes as well, mostly because he was the one who planned them all. So it was easy to slide across the courtyard and in between the junior barracks and the kitchens, another pocket of darkness that hid him well.

Another few minutes, and he reached the far wall of the main castle. Cloudkeep is built into the side of a mountain – the main castle was tunnelled into the mountain itself, and has little daylight. Only clever ventilation keeps the smoke from choking everyone who lived inside. Beneath the main castle is the dungeon, and beneath that is the maze of natural caverns that leads to the treasury – and many more unsavoury things besides. There hasn’t been a successful burglary in over three hundred years.

The opposite side of Cloudkeep ends at a natural cliff that plunges down almost to the level of the gentle hills and valleys around Cloud Mountain. The open and windy area is mostly useless for humans, but other species flourish there.

Dean unlocked a side entrance with his master key and eased inside the stables. Most of the dragons are asleep at this time of night, but he can feel a tingling at the edge of his mind that meant that Chevy is awake and knew he was coming.

He avoided the one stablehand that is moving quietly between the dragons and goes straight for Chevy’s stall. She’s massive, black with glowing yellow eyes and touches of silver that gleam on her scales. A classic firebreather, Chevy had refused to let anyone ride her until Dean had come along. They got on like a house on fire, and she was basically the only uncomplicated part of Dean’s life.

“Hey baby,” he crooned as he locked her door behind him. “How are you?”

Chevy nuzzled at him, breathing deeply. He knows she can smell the blood on him when she growled, deep in her chest.

‘I even had a bath before I came to see you, and you still get upset,’ Dean sighed.

‘Is it time for I/we to soar/fight?’ Chevy asked, her concern clear. Dean grimaced as their minds touched – Chevy’s mindvoice was harsh against his senses.

‘I’m fine,’ Dean told her, letting her skim the meaning of his words from the top of his head. That was usually quicker and more likely to be understood – sometimes the words Dean used were completely alien to Chevy, even as some of her thought symbols were completely unrecognisable to Dean.  

Chevy made an unimpressed sound. ‘The doings of you/freerider is strange/unknowable to this freeflier. _’_ Dean fed her a honey muffin that he’d stolen from the table, and her mood improved. Dean scratched just under her chin, where he knew she had trouble getting at, and she purred at him, ready to take advantage of the pampering.

Being with Chevy always made him feel better. When they’d met they’d both been fucked up – Chevy’s last rider had just died, and Dean had just been basically kidnapped from Winchester Castle, a political pawn to keep his father solidly in Michael’s corner in the shifting alliances that made up the South. Sometimes Dean longed for the certainties of the north. Sure, some families you hated on sight and would never reconcile with, but at least you _knew_ for certain. There was very little backstabbing in the north. Sometimes Dean wondered if the southern nobles did anything else.

He spent the hours until dawn making sure there wasn’t a speck of dust on Chevy. He couldn’t have slept anyway. Chevy dropped off soon enough, and her peaceful dreams of hunting and flying settled into Dean’s mind. It was the most at ease that he’d been all day.

Charlie found him the next morning, probably after she came from breakfast. The stablehands had been manoeuvring around him all morning, unwilling to be the first to confront him when none of them had seen him come in.

“The guard is all up and ready for a new day, Captain,” Charlie said. Her words were formal, but her tone was not. She’d tried to distract him from what was happening yesterday, and now she was worried about him. She was a good friend.

“That’s good,” Dean said neutrally.

Chevy had her eyes fixed on Charlie, and a curl of smoke was coming out of her nose. Dean turned to face his second in command. She was fidgeting, pulling at the edge of her jerkin awkwardly.

“What is it?” Dean said, already tired.

“King Michael has requested your presence,” she said reluctantly. “He sent a page to the main barracks.”

So it had been public. Dean bristled, and Chevy started growling, echoing his emotions. If there was one type of sharing that they could do easily, it was when their anger boiled out over into each other. Charlie took a half step back. There was a reason that Dean was the only one who could take care of Chevy, and it wasn’t because the stables were understaffed. She liked to flame, and the only person she didn’t seem to want to eat was Dean.

“I’ll be there soon,” Dean managed to say, packing up the grooming equipment as fast as he could. Chevy rumbled a question in her throat, but Dean just gave her a final scratch, as well as a push of reassurance. She settled unhappily, but he knew she wouldn’t try to follow him.

Charlie fell into her normal place behind him and a step to the left as Dean grimly marched across the main courtyard and into the Great Hall. Breakfast must have just ended, because most of the people in the hall were servants clearing away dishes. He ignored their bows and curtsies as he cut directly across the room and into the main stairway.

Michael’s suite was on the second floor and occupied most of the eastern wing. A page at the door bid them to wait, and then ducked inside.

“It’ll be fine,” Charlie said nervously. She was obviously trying to reassure herself more than him.

“No matter what happens to me, you’ll be fine,” Dean said tersely. “Wait here.”

She swallowed. “Okay. Just remember, I’ve got your back.”

The page came back out again and Dean walked through the door that he held open for him, leaving Charlie behind.

Michael wasn’t in his entrance room, and Dean detested the waste of space as he crossed to the main gaming room. He could smell the herbs that Michael was burning already, and resigned himself to the headache he would soon be having because of them.

“Dean,” Michael said as Dean stepped through the door. He stood to attention and waited. Michael would get to what he wanted, sooner or later. The fastest way to get this over with was not to talk.

“How did you like the festivities yesterday?” Michael asked, eyes glinting in the low light. He must have only just lit the herbs, to still remember this much. Dean had a love/hate relationship with the herbs – they made Michael forget, almost as often as they made him angry.

“It was fine,” Dean said shortly.

“Good, good,” Michael murmured. “You performed well, yet again. I suppose that means you get to live for another year. I haven’t regretted employing your services yet, and I hope to be as satisfied in the future.”

Dean didn’t say anything. There was usually a reason that Michael summoned him, even if he liked to gloat first.

Michael sighed. “There is a problem, up north. The major power broker recently bit it, and things are probably going to get a bit messy up there for a while. I think that Novakkeep will remain the centre of power, but I’d like to make sure. Go up there, take however many you think will be intimidating enough, and make sure that the new lord Novak will throw his weight behind me. Let him know that if he pledges loyalty to me, then I’ll send some troops and support if he has trouble with his neighbours.”

Dean sorted through the information quickly, mind whirling. “The leader of Novakkeep hasn’t directly pledged allegiance to the King in generations.”

“True,” Michael sighed. “I trust in your ability to be convincing. Do you understand your mission?”

Dean bit his tongue. “Yes sir.”

“Good. I want you to leave immediately, today if possible.”

“Yes sir,” Dean said, saluting again. As he left Michael’s chambers, he was already thinking up a list of people he’d want to come with him, and what they would all need to bring to convince the new Lord of Novakkeep that he should support the monarchy that the north has been bucking against long before Dean was born.


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Move_ your feet Claire, you’re meant to be able to step at a moment’s notice, not pretend to be a tree.”

“I know,” Claire panted, and Castiel batted away one of her hurried thrusts, then slid under her guard. Claire jumped back.

“Too far,” he chastised. “How are you going to counterattack? Or is your plan to run away?”

“Never,” Claire hissed, throwing herself back into the fight.

Castiel sidestepped one of her blows. Claire had graduated to using the blunt training swords that were made of real steel, and she was still adjusting to the weight. Even so, she was coming along nicely with her skills, and Castiel could see the fighter in her lying just under the surface, waiting for him to bring her out. Jimmy had always preferred to keep Claire indoors, but Claire had never been content with that. As the heir of the keep, she got away with behaviour that other children could only dream about, including inserting herself into the training of the militia nearly every day she could slip away from her other lessons.

Castiel had no qualms about Claire learning to fight, so she’d improved rapidly in the weeks since Jimmy had – died. Castiel still had trouble thinking that. He taught her personally because he wanted to make sure she was getting the best education she could, and because it was a break from the rest of the day and the million other things that demanded his constant attention. Castiel could feel the stress inside him building and building, and putting everything aside to teach Claire made him feel better on most days.

He twisted his sword around and disarmed her, sending her sword spinning out of her hand. Claire grimaced and rubbed her wrist.

“And again,” Castiel told her calmly, and she nodded, turning to retrieve her sword.

“Sire!”

Castiel turned, frowning. He had requested that no one interrupt Claire’s lessons unless something important happened. He recognised Samandriel as one of the younger captains in the militia, which only piqued his interest further. What was going on?

“What is it?” Castiel asked.

“A dragon, sir,” Samandriel said, cheeks flushed. He’d obviously just sprinted here from the guard tower. “Bright green, and coming in fast.”

“Which direction? Show me,” Castiel said, alarmed. “Claire, come with us.”

Samandriel turned and led them into the main courtyard, which faced southwards. When Castiel looked up over the frozen wall of the castle, he could see the dragon easily. She was green and was closing the distance between herself and the castle with alarming speed. The waters in his dam of stress surged, threatening to break down the wall he had created to hold them back.

“Alert the guard, bring in all unnecessary people to the basement of the keep, and ready the archers,” Castiel ordered. Where was Anna?

“Anna led a hunting group out this morning,” Samandriel said, almost like he’d read Castiel’s mind. “She wasn’t supposed to be back with them for another few hours.”

So they were down in man power as well. “Claire, stay with me,” Castiel told her shortly, and began giving out orders, sending non-combatants inside and the archers to the walls. Behind the green dragon he could see the classic travelling formation of another twenty or so. The green was just the main scout.

He sent out a runner to find Anna’s party, and another few to warn the people who preferred to live outside the strength of Novakkeep’s walls. The large mounted bows were brought out of the keep, and Castiel oversaw their mounting inside the courtyard. They were the only bows big enough to have the range necessary to hit the dragons if they stayed high in the air.

Just as the last of the people were heading inside, the green dragon wheeled low over the courtyard.

“Hold your fire!” Castiel yelled. “Only fire back if provoked!”

If they were provoked it would be because one of the dragons had flamed half the courtyard, but Castiel tried not to think about that. If they were just here to talk, he didn’t want to get on their bad side. He’d recognised the formation that the dragons were flying in, and wondered what business the Eagle Guard had at Novakkeep.

The green dragon landed on the other side of the keep gate, and Castiel heard trees cracking as she ploughed into them. There wasn’t much of a clearing in front of the gates, but if the Eagle Guard wanted to come here, they were just going to have to accept that.

The courtyard air was tense as the rest of the dragons landed. The sentries on the walls tightened their grips on their bows, but none raised an arrow. Castiel gripped the pommel of his sword and waited.

“They’re getting off the dragons and coming towards the gate!” A sentry cried out. Everyone tensed.  
“The dragons are all hanging back.”

“Well,” Castiel said grimly. “I suppose I’ll have to go and see what they want, then. Claire, stay here.”

“Let me come with you,” she protested.

“No,” Castiel said sharply. “If I get eaten, Novakkeep will need someone to hearken to. Stay back.”

Claire bit her lip but nodded.

Castiel arranged a few men around him, and then walked towards the barred gate. If they’d wanted to attack, the dragons could have easily set the keep on fire, or just landed inside the courtyard, so it was silly not open the gate to talk to them. Even so, Castiel felt a shiver go down his spine as he ordered the gates open.

Castiel stood in the gateway and stared down the riders, who had mostly dismounted. They were talking lowly among themselves, and a few were ignoring the keep altogether, talking quietly with their dragons or rummaging in their saddlebags. Castiel pushed down the pang of loss he felt just looking at the dragons and made sure his expression stayed completely neutral. He didn’t want to give the riders any leverage to use.

One of them stepped forward, flanked by a woman with bright orange hair. He was wearing a bright uniform and was clearly in command. He would be attractive, if only he wasn’t coming to tear down everything Castiel cherished. As only the two approached, Castiel subtly nodded to each of the men around him, and they took a step back, ready to defend him, but leaving it clear who was in charge.

“Ho, Novakkeep!” The approaching man called. Castiel didn’t say anything until they’d gotten closer.

“We were not forewarned of a visit by a phalanx of dragons. What is your purpose here?” Castiel asked coldly.

The man smiled. “You must be the new Lord Novak. I’m Dean of Winchester, King Michael’s Champion and Captain of the Eagle Guard.”

Castiel didn’t let his dismay show on his face. The King’s Champion was sent out most often to subdue rebellions by killing those involved and rarely left negotiations without strongarming his opponents into submission. Castiel had heard a few tales of this Dean, and how he killed emotionlessly. Rumours said that he was Michael’s favourite champion in recent years, and he liked him well enough to give him his own nickname: the Michael Sword. And he had brought a phalanx of dragons with him. This was not going to end well.

“I am Castiel Novak,” Castiel said. “We have no business with the south. Be on your way.”

“Don’t be like that,” Dean said, smiling disarmingly. Castiel ignored it. “Can I speak to you in private? It’s regarding a proposition the King has for you.”

“I am not interested,” Castiel told him.

“Well, you should be,” Dean said, voice dropping to a serious note. “I must speak with you, Lord Novak.”

Castiel hesitated. He didn’t want to invite the Eagle Guard inside, but ignoring a show of power directly from King Michael’s lips would be an open affront and likely would mean the dragons would rip Novakkeep apart. There wasn’t really any other decision than to hear him out and try to defuse whatever situation he brought with him.

“There is no place for your dragons here,” Castiel informed him icily.

“Yeah, they’re big aren’t they?” Dean smiled, deliberately choosing to take Castiel’s statement literally, as if Castiel would say something so inane. “If Charlie and I could just come in to talk to you, that would be great.”

Castiel stared him down. “Just you.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. Castiel didn’t give him an inch.

“Very well,” Dean said. “Charlie, wait out here until I come back. You’re in charge.”

“But Dean –” Charlie started.

“Wait out here,” Dean repeated, the command clear in his tone. Charlie hesitated a moment before nodding and taking a step back.

Castiel stepped aside, and turned around. Dean fell into step with him as he walked back into the main courtyard, the eyes of all the soldiers fixed on the bright intruder in their ranks.

“Nice reception you’ve got here,” Dean said cheerfully.

“We don’t often have visitors.”

“Well, you do live pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Do you know how long it took us to find this place?”

Uneasy, Castiel looked at Dean from the corner of his eye.

“Stand down, but stay alert,” Castiel ordered the men, and they nodded grimly. “I will take our visitor inside to speak with him. Do not allow any of the phalanx inside the walls.”

Castiel took Dean inside, through the main hall and to the second floor, where his suite was located in the middle of the keep, with no windows. The four warriors that had followed them positioned themselves outside of Castiel’s door.

Castiel closed the door after Dean but didn’t lock it.

“Please, sit,” Castiel said.

Dean did, and Castiel sat opposite him, and waited, expecting him to get down to business.

“You have the Eagle sword,” Dean said instead, leaning towards him. “You were Eagle Captain, once.”

“Once,” Castiel said. “It is not a time I like to remember. What business does Michael have with Novakkeep?”

Dean regarded him for a few long moments. “King Michael wishes to express his congratulations on your new position. He wants there to be peace between the north and the south, and wants to know what your future plans are. He also wants you to know that expressing loyalty to the south and particularly the monarchy would be very beneficial to you. King Michael has sway over many resources, especially ones that you need to survive.”

“I know that,” Castiel said. “That is why we trade with the south. The only things it is useful for growing is grain and fat nobles.”

A flicker went through Dean’s eyes, but Castiel couldn’t tell if he was amused or angry.

“Pledging allegiance to King Michael would reap many rewards,” Dean tried to start.

“And a noose around my neck,” Castiel said, the anger in him spilling. “Michael knows who I am, and he’s more idiotic than I thought if he thinks I will ever pledge loyalty to him again. The monarchy has caused me enough pain. I want nothing to do with it.”

Dean’s expression was unreadable, but Castiel could almost feel his mind turning over as he realised this was a fool’s errand. Castiel had the Eagle sword, so he must have been captain of the Eagle Guard once, and worked closely with Michael. In that way, Castiel would either still be loyal to him and this trip would have been unnecessary, or he would loathe Michael, in which case the trip would also be unnecessary. Castiel didn’t envy his position. He’d been in it himself for long enough that seeing Dean put through Michael’s incredibly dense hoops only made him pity the man.

“I hope you understand why this visit is not going to end the way you want,” Castiel said.

Dean pursed his mouth, and Castiel shuddered as he felt him reach out to his dragon. The ache inside him intensified exponentially until he felt like Dean had personally stuck a sword in his gut. The reminder of the bond he didn’t have any more was grating.

“Please leave,” Castiel said, voice trembling. He was standing. Dean gave him a level look.

“Obviously, Michael wouldn’t have sent me if he thought there was a chance that I could change your mind. What do you want from him?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Castiel hissed. “He can do nothing for me.”

Dean stood up and took a step towards him. “I think we both know that’s not –”

Whatever Dean was going to say, Castiel didn’t want to hear. Giving voice to his frustration and anger and hurt, he crash tackled Dean, pinning him to the ground. Dean grunted, but didn’t waste a second as he wedged his leg up to get leverage so he could flip them. Castiel didn’t let him get on top, wriggling out of his grasp and aiming a punch at his face. Dean turned so he took it on the jaw instead of the nose, but with the small amount of space available, Castiel probably wouldn’t have had the force to break his nose anyway.

Dean grabbed at his wrists, and Castiel head butted him, fierce satisfaction roiling through him when Dean started cursing and he smelled blood. They scrambled apart and stood up, Dean holding a hand to his face.

“They killed your dragon, didn’t they?” Dean asked, as if that wasn’t the only way to make Castiel angrier. Castiel kicked out at his legs in an attempt to put him back on the ground, but Dean jumped back. “I recognise the anger. I’ve seen it before, when a bonded dragon was killed in battle.”

Castiel punched him again, and Dean ducked out of the way, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward so that Castiel tripped into him. Castiel kicked at Dean’s shin, but they must have upgraded the shin guards since Castiel wore it, because his shoe bounced off the armour. Dean swung him around and grabbed both arms to pin Castiel face first against the wall. Castiel snarled at him, but he didn’t have a good angle to kick and Dean was strong enough to keep Castiel’s arms behind him. Dean didn’t say anything, the air between them loud with Castiel’s panting.

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel eventually said, almost at the point of breaking down. Now wouldn’t _that_ be an excellent report for Dean to carry back to Michael. Michael would laugh himself into tears if he heard. “It’s over now.”

“But you clearly haven’t gotten over it,” Dean said. “Fighting is one way to let out the anger.” His voice was low. Feeling like they’d crossed some sort of line, Castiel flexed uneasily. He wasn’t really sure what they were talking about now.

“I don’t like to fight though, because I mightn’t be able to do my job well if I lose. You’ve probably got the same problem here. I suggest you stop coiling up so tightly that one prod from a stranger sets you off.”

Castiel turned around, and Dean let him. “I am perfectly capable of handling myself and this keep,” he hissed. “I just don’t normally have a fucking phalanx of dragons descend, ready to tear this place apart because fucking Michael decided he needed to play god with my life because of our past. So I’m sorry if I’m a bit tightly strung.”

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Well, I know how that feels. Michael breathing down your neck everyday sucks ass, huh?”

Castiel met the eyes of one of the few people who could relate to what he’d gone through, all those years ago. The tension of the fight was still sizzling between them, but Castiel recognised a peace gesture when he saw one.

“It did,” he grudgingly said.

Dean smiled a bit, and Castiel thought it might be his first genuine expression. It changed Dean’s face so Castiel had to look away from his attractiveness.

“Well, if fighting doesn’t work for you, what does?” Castiel asked, hoping to diffuse the tension further.

Something inscrutable flickered across Dean’s expression. “Like this,” he said, and leant in to brush his lips against Castiel’s.

If Castiel had been hoping to diffuse the tension between them, he’d taken the wrong approach. Castiel was stressed out of his mind, still coping with his brother’s death, and had just fought a very attractive person who was now kissing him.

Castiel grabbed Dean’s collar and pulled him in harder. Dean brought his hands up to cup Castiel’s face, deepening the kiss. Castiel hung onto his shirt as Dean licked at his lips, hands sliding down his neck. Castiel could taste the blood on him that had come from when Castiel had head butted him. Castiel bit at his lip and Dean pushed him against the wall. Castiel felt his cloak slip off his shoulders, and Dean smiled when Castiel snarled into the kiss.

Castiel broke it off after another few seconds. Dean pressed a final kiss against the edge of his mouth.

“See? Stress relief,” Dean said as he winked at him.

Castiel stared at him for a long few seconds. “I’m not giving Michael my loyalty and that’s final.”

Dean sighed. “Well, the offer’s there if you want it.”

“I won’t.”

“Just letting you know.”

They stared at each other for another few seconds.

“You can take your hands off my ass now,” Castiel told him primly, and Dean laughed.

“Okay, okay.”

Castiel took a breath. “I suppose you want to stay the night?”

“If that’s alright,” Dean said. “It would be nicer than camping again. It feels like we’ve been in the woods forever.”

A touch of suspicion reared its head in the back of Castiel’s mind. “How long since you left Cloudkeep?”

“Twelve days,” Dean said regretfully.

Castiel’s mind whirred.  Jimmy had died twenty seven days ago. Castiel had become the leader of Novakkeep four days after that when they left his body for the wolves. The news would have spread all over the north by now, but even in the fastest circumstance, with a dedicated messenger, it took twenty days to reach Cloudkeep from Novakkeep. And Castiel hadn’t sent out a dedicated messenger.

Twelve days for the dragons to get here.

Michael had known that Jimmy was dead fifteen days after he had died, a week before he should have. And he’d known that Castiel would be the one to take over his place at Novakkeep. And he’d sent his honour guard and his champion here, to ask about Castiel’s loyalty even though even Michael wasn’t stupid enough to not know the answer.

Castiel looked sharply at Dean, who was beginning to frown. “Your dragons will have to stay outside. There really is no room for them to sleep here.”

Dean nodded, his frown disappearing. “Some of my guys will want to stay with them anyway. The dragons won’t like it but they’ll be glad to know that they’re going home tomorrow.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Castiel said, picking up his cloak and tying it back on. “Let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean investigated the room that a man had shown him to.

Castiel had given the orders to his people, and Dean had given orders to his people, and now thirteen of the twenty dragon riders had their own rooms inside of Novakkeep. Charlie had stayed outside with the others and the dragons, and Dean could feel Chevy’s dreams at the edge of his mind.

There was a decent sized bed, a small greeting chamber and a fireplace, which didn’t have a fire in it. The only light came from the few candles that were scattered around the room. In fact, the only fire Dean had seen lit was the one in the main hall at dinner, when he’d sat next to Castiel. It’d been good food, but all game and pickled and salted – nothing fresh besides the meat that militia leader Anna had brought back with her from her hunting trip. Dean was just thankful that there hadn’t been another blizzard so they could find the damn place.

Tempers had started to run high after they’d started running a few days late, so Dean was grateful that his squad was having a break here. The people in Novakkeep hadn’t been particularly warm or welcoming – besides Castiel. Dean smirked a little as he ran a finger over his lips.

Dean tried the door, slightly surprised to find that it was unlocked. When he poked his head outside, the corridor was empty, with just a few candles at intervals giving a low light.

Dean sidled out of his room, strolling down the corridor casually. No one had really told him to stay in his room, and he’d never thought best cooped up, anyway.

There was something really dodgy going on in the halls of Novakkeep, and Dean wanted to find out what. Although he was beginning to think that something really dodgy was going on at Cloudkeep as well. There’s no way that Michael wouldn’t have known that Castiel would turn him down. So why was Dean here? Michael had demanded that he investigate Novakkeep thoroughly and report back even the smallest of details.

There were too many questions that Dean had no answers to. Who was Castiel? How had he come to be Eagle Captain, why had he left? How had his dragon been killed? Why had Michael let him leave the capital to come back to his home, when Castiel clearly harboured no love for the monarchy?

There was a deeper pattern at work here, and Dean had only questions with no places to search for answers besides the castle around him. He’d spent enough time mind-linked with Chevy to know when another person was close by, and he expanded that sense as much as he was able as he padded down a dim hallway.

The main hall was empty, the fire at the end banked. Dean could hear movement in the kitchens, so he steered in the opposite direction. He opened the doors that he came across – a games room, an armoury and forge, a door leading to a private training area, a sitting area, another sitting area, a room with a large table in the middle. Frustrated, he kept looking – storage space for extra furniture, another armoury, an indoor training space. Dean walked through a large door to find himself in the main hall again, next to the kitchens.

Dean tapped his fingers against his thigh before heading to the second floor. Almost immediately he had to duck into a side passage as a guard passed by, carrying a torch. Dean stretched out his senses along the hallway, but he could only feel the guard who was moving away from him.

Moving a bit slower now, Dean moved in the opposite direction to the guard. Second floor was where the bedrooms started, and where Castiel had taken him earlier today.

Most of the rooms he ghosted past had people inside them. Dean finally found a door with no one inside, but when he tried to open it, it was locked. Annoyed, he swore to himself as he felt an approaching guard. He tried the door again, but it was still locked. He hadn’t gone past any side corridors in a while, and the guard was approaching fast.

Dean backtracked to a bedroom and tried the door gingerly. It opened, and he slid inside, intending to wait until the guard had gone past and leave again.

The torch the guard was carrying spilled light under the edge of the door, and Dean waited another few seconds until he couldn’t hear the guard’s footsteps anymore.

“Well, lucky me, I get a handsome late night visitor,” a voice behind him drawled.

Dean spun around to find a blonde woman sitting in front of her dim fireplace. She had one eyebrow cocked at him.

“Well, I can tell when I’m not welcome,” Dean said, reaching for the door.

“It would take very little time for me to call that guard,” she said. “And I doubt it would take much longer for the rest of them to show up and probably waste little time before killing you.”

“Well, you haven’t called them yet,” Dean pointed out, intrigued.

“True,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean slowly walked towards the chair opposite her. The woman kept her eyes on him the entire time. There was something in her relaxed posture that suggested to Dean that she was armed, and ready to use her weapon if he tried anything.

“Who are you?” Dean asked.

“As you’re the one in my bedchamber, I think I get to ask the first question,” she said coolly. “You are Dean of Winchester, correct?”

“Yes,” Dean said slowly. What was this, a question for a question? He could do that. “And you are?”

“Claire,” she said. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing here?”

Dean leaned back in his chair. “You must know that.”

“Even so,” Claire agreed.

Dean looked at her for a while. “I was sent by King Michael to convince Lord Novak to pledge loyalty to the monarchy.”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you. It would be idiotic to send King Michael’s champion on an errand so far away when the errand was obviously was not going to happen.”

Dean ground his teeth together. He couldn’t just _admit_ that he had no idea what the fuck Michael wanted from him, but he couldn’t say what he wanted from him, because Dean had no idea. Either way, he looked suspicious.

“That’s what he told me,” Dean said. “When was Castiel Captain of the Eagle Guard?”

Claire shrugged. “Ages ago. When I was just a kid. And I don’t believe that you don’t know.”

“How old is he?” Dean asked.

“Hey, you don’t get to ask weird questions about Cas,” Claire said, annoyed.

_Cas._ Whoever Claire was, she must be close to Castiel.

“Why bring so many dragons then?” Claire pressed.

“A show of strength,” Dean eventually said. “I told Castiel that Michael would militarily support him if he gave his loyalty. This was meant to be a demonstration of that.”

“And totally not a way for you to wreck the place if he said no,” Claire said sarcastically.

“It is an option if events here boiled over,” Dean admitted. “But not my goal.”

“Sure,” Claire said as she rolled her eyes. Dean downgraded her age in his mind – she must just be a teenager with that attitude, not to mention the sheer recklessness of inviting him inside. “Why were you creeping around the corridors?”

“Um,” Dean stalled. There really wasn’t any good answer he could give. “Honestly, I wanted to find out more about Castiel. You know he was once captain of the Eagle Guard. But he left, and wouldn’t tell me why.”

“That’s probably because it’s an emotionally loaded story,” Claire told him bluntly. “And you won’t find any clues about that by lurking around. You have to talk to people.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Dean asked.

“Were you going to talk to him now?” Claire asked doubtfully. “I don’t think he would have liked being woken up by you in the middle of the night. Besides, he always has guards outside his door, and there’s no windows.”

“I see,” Dean said, glad of her easy excuse. “We talked more openly when we were alone together this afternoon compared to when we were in public.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “Besides, he still has to put on a strong face. My father only died three weeks ago.”

Dean’s mind stalled as several contradicting facts jostled against each other. “Your father?” he asked gingerly, hoping that was the best thread to pull on, but dreading the answer he knew he was going to get.

“James Novak,” Claire said, and for the first time her voice grated, bitterness and hurt clear. “You know, the person you’re glad got given to the wolves so you could come up here with your show of force and throw your weight around?”

Dean’s dread grew as he reviewed their visit with a new light. He’d thought that the late Novak had died several months ago. Three weeks. It had taken just under two weeks just for the Eagle Guard to get to Novakkeep.

Miserably, Dean came to the only conclusion – Michael had known that James Novak was dead before he’d been slain, most likely because he was the one who had given the order. No wonder Castiel had been so distant and guarded. Well, he’d come looking for answers – he had just been foolish to think that they would be ones he’d want to hear.

“Ah,” Dean said eloquently. “I’m sorry.”

“No you aren’t,” Claire said. She stood up, and Dean tried not to gulp as he saw the sword in her hand. It was still sheathed, but he feared it mightn’t stay that way for long. “I suppose if you want to talk to my uncle, I can facilitate that. I’m sure he’d be very interested to hear that you were walking around the corridors in the middle of the night.”

Dean stood up as Claire moved across the room, not towards the door, but into her bedchamber. He darted a look at the door, wondering if it was a good time to make his escape, but then he heard the tell-tale sound of stone grating on stone that meant a passage way was being opened.

Curious, he moved so he could see into Claire’s bedroom, just as she disappeared down a dark corridor. It must link to Castiel’s room. Another grating sound, and light spilled in from the other room. Castiel must still have been awake and feeding his fire.

“Claire?” Castiel said from the other room. Dean swore to himself, a long string of words that would have made his mother give him a good cuff. He could leave and say that Claire made the whole thing up –

Castiel stepped into the small corridor and met his eyes. Dean squared his shoulders as Castiel’s entire being became colder.

“He said he wanted to talk to you,” Claire said. Dean wished he’d opened any door but hers to hide in.

“I see,” Castiel said. “Well, Captain Winchester?”

Dean fervently prayed that this wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life as he stepped through the corridor and into Castiel’s room, right next to where they’d fought this afternoon.

“Go to bed, Claire,” Castiel told his niece. “I’m going to lock my door from this side, so don’t try to listen in on our conversation.”

Claire pouted, but still turned back to her room. Castiel closed the door, and Dean couldn’t make out where it was – it just looked like a piece of wall again. If Castiel locked it, Dean didn’t see how.

They stared at each other for a long few seconds. Castiel had shed the outer layer of his clothes, but was still wearing his day gear. Dean noted the desk by the fire that was stacked with papers – they hadn’t been there this afternoon.

“I don’t appreciate outside military appearing in my heir’s room,” Castiel said dryly.

“Well, I didn’t know it was hers,” Dean tried to say.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Nothing makes sense,” Dean said, surprising himself with his words. “Why am I here?”

Castiel’s expression didn’t change. “That question would be more suited to be answered by yourself, not me.”

“Likely so,” Dean admitted. “But events are out of order. Some have happened before they should have. And the machinations behind them elude me.”

“Even so.”

Dean didn’t break eye contact with him. If Castiel had been anyone else, or had any other past, Dean would never have been this open with him. But Castiel knew what it was like to be captain of the Eagle Guard, and knew what it was like to be bonded to a dragon.

“Why did you leave the Eagle Guard?” Dean asked slowly.

Castiel’s eyes were already ice cold, but the question made Dean feel like he was getting stabbed by them. “It hardly matters,” he tried to deflect.

“I think it does,” Dean stressed. “I don’t think I know any other captain who has left their position and not been directly under Michael’s influence. You’re the difference.”

“It does not matter because Michael broke me,” Castiel said, hatred in his voice. “He broke me, and all knew it. Captains were more disposable ten years ago when the war with Purgatory was still being fought, and I was promoted too early, too young. I think Michael hoped it would kill me. It only killed my spirit instead. The reason he sent you was for you to gauge if I’ve recovered it or not. Well you run back and tell him this: never again. Never again will I be his plaything to wave around as he pleases.” Castiel’s face was terrible. “That is the evil of the south – you win or you die. Well it killed me in every way that mattered, and then it killed my brother. So chew on that, and realise that I’ll pay my taxes, but I will _never_ engage with southern politics as long as I live.”

“Then what are your plans for the south?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“Nothing,” Castiel spat. “I wish we had no contact with them at all.”

“I see,” Dean said, as neutrally as he could manage. Inside, he bled for him. Dean knew what it was like to be used as Michael’s playing piece on the board of politics. Whatever had happened to Castiel was likely the direct result of one of Michael’s plays gone wrong. Or perhaps Michael had sacrificed him just for sport – it wasn’t like that would be out of character for him.

“Now you know why I was so worried with your presence,” Castiel said, voice quieter.

“I have extended the offer, and received a reply,” Dean said stiltedly. “We shall leave tomorrow, and hopefully never have cause to come back.”

“Hopefully,” Castiel said, voice bitter. Dean took a step towards him instinctively, but even as he opened his mouth he didn’t know what to say.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Dean said again, helplessly.

“Yes, you will,” Castiel confirmed. He crossed to his door and opened it. “Samandriel, I would appreciate it if you could escort Captain Winchester back to his room and make sure he stays there for the rest of the night.”

Dean sheepishly left Castiel’s rooms, where both guards outside stared at him, shocked. Dean met Castiel’s eyes before he closed his door, but they were guarded, and didn’t give anything away.

Even as Samandriel escorted Dean down the hallway, Dean was certain that tomorrow would not be the last time he met with Castiel. A few of his questions had been answered, but mostly they had just dug up new questions, more pressing ones. Dean was sure that he would be seeing more of Castiel in the future.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel looked out over the training yard from his vantage. There hadn’t been much trouble during the winter, but there rarely was. The blizzards and storms meant anyone foolish enough to leave shelter often meant that they never came back to it. Now that spring was approaching, Castiel was anticipating more fighting to take place. Novakkeep was the largest and most defended keep this side of the border, but that also made it the biggest prize.

It wasn’t even snowing at the moment, so Castiel could see clearly how Anna was leading them through their daily sparring. Normally Castiel would be down there with them, but there was a letter on his desk that he’s avoiding opening, even though he knows he can’t procrastinate it forever.

He turns back inside, leaving the doors to the balcony open. His desk is piled with papers, but one envelope sits innocently in the centre of the mess, a conspicuous border of cleanliness around it. Castiel hadn’t wanted it to touch anything else, as if it could infect the rest of his paperwork with bad news.

Sighing, he sat down and picked the letter up, opening it as slowly as he could manage. The folded paper inside was heavy, very good quality. Heart in his throat, Castiel opened it.

_It is the pleasure of King Michael I, first of his name, to invite Castiel Novak to the Springfest Ball and gala, to celebrate the coming of spring and the close relationship between the parties._

Below the opening sentence was a list of dates and people he could bring with him. Castiel stared at it, then reread it. And again.

It was poison dressed up as silk. Castiel knew that he would have to have someone go diving through the records to find out when the last time a Novak was invited to the Springfest ball.

The phalanx of dragons came to mind – a similar situation, something that looked like it could only go wrong. Castiel had managed to get out of it with himself and Novakkeep intact, but he was sure that Michael had not liked Dean’s report. This must be the response to it, then – taking him out of the place where he had the most power, and putting him somewhere where he would have little, if any, sway over events.

Of course, he could simply not go. But Castiel suspected that Dean would visit again, and this time he would be a lot less friendly. If he went, he would only be risking himself, not all the people who depended on Novakkeep for shelter. He knew that Anna would disapprove and try to talk him out of it, but his mind was already made up. He was going.

Besides, he had hardly done anything to figure out who had killed Jimmy, after he’d vowed he would do. Castiel had no doubt that these events were connected. He had contacts in Cloudkeep – he’d lived there for almost four years, and that had only been ten years ago. Some people were bound to remember him.

And Dean.

Castiel scowled at himself. Dean was not an ally he could count on. They’d revealed a bit of each other while he was up here, certainly, but Castiel had seen something of the man underneath his hard exterior, and he didn’t like what he saw. The Dean that he had heard of was an emotionless killer – the Dean that he’d met had been kind and willing to understand. That meant one of two things: Dean was either a psychopath, or Michael held some sway over him, to make him act as he did in the role of Michael’s champion. Castiel would like to believe it was the latter, but it didn’t really matter which it was. Dean would place Michael’s needs above Castiel’s, so Castiel could only count him as an enemy.

Castiel shook the thoughts out of his head. He had an expedition to plan, all the while making sure that Novakkeep would remain defended while he was gone. It wasn’t going to be easy to convince Anna to remain behind.

 

* * *

 

“I will not! If you’re set on this course of action, then I am coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

Castiel sighed. That must have been the third time she’d said that.

“You need to stay here, as an experienced voice to steer Claire, and to lead the militia if there’s an incursion onto our land. All I need is a few people who I trust and are handy with a sword. You know I’m right.”

Anna’s face twisted. “Why do you have to go? The only reason he’s inviting you is so that he can find a convenient way to kill you.”

Castiel had known that, but saying it out loud made it more real. “I know. But if I don’t go, he’s only going to bring the fight here. And I need to find out who killed Jimmy. The answers will be at Cloudkeep.”

Anna turned her back to him. Castiel waited for her to say something. “You’re as much a fool as you ever were, then,” she said stiffly. “If there’s a fight, it’s best to do it our ground, where we can prepare! But instead you run towards the noose. I should tell Claire that she will be in charge while you’re gone, and work on instilling some common sense into her, since I clearly failed with you.”

Anna slammed the door behind her. Castiel sighed.

A hesitant knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Castiel called, situating himself at the top of the map rolled out on the table. It showed the peninsula that Cloudkeep was on, and reached all the way north to the Northern Mountains.

Samandriel walked in, as well as two other guards that Castiel trusted: Uriel and Hannah.

“You’re probably wondering what’s going on,” Castiel started, and then pointed out the route that he’d already marked down on the map. It would be about three and a half weeks travel, if they got lucky and the weather didn’t delay them. If they were to make Springfest, they were going to have to travel fast. “This is the situation…”

 

* * *

 

Quicksilver was as fleet at her name suggested.

Out of the party of four horses, she was always in the lead, and at the end of the day was always the least tired. Hannah’s horse was a close second, but Quicksilver definitely had the most stamina.

They’d left snowstorms behind them when they’d crossed the unofficial border that separated the north and the south parts of the kingdom. Castiel had been uneasy ever since. It represented all they were leaving behind – all that kept them safe. It took a hard person to deal with the conditions of the north, and the southerners had long ago lost that edge.

He’d been spilling coin since he’d crossed the border as well – everyone was charging ridiculous prices for two rooms. Uriel normally handled the transactions, as that was one concession that Anna had managed to wring out of him – they would travel with a low profile, keeping off the main roads where they could, and avoiding all the attention they could. Castiel had thought that it was probably a good idea, but the secrecy had been grating on him the entire trip. He hadn’t been able to nose around about Jimmy as much as he’d liked to.

This is what Castiel knew of Jimmy’s murder:

It had happened while Jimmy had been travelling back from another holding, one of their allies. There had been a storm, and he and his party had been late. Then, their allies had sent them a message on a black rider – Jimmy was dead.

Castiel still didn’t know what had happened to the people with him. Only Jimmy’s body had been found, and Castiel was certain that it was on purpose. He’d had sword marks over his body, but the killing cut had been from an arrow that had lodged in his spine. Roland, the main healer at Novakkeep, had told Castiel that he had likely died instantly and without pain. It had been professional, not emotional – after he had been killed, they had simply dumped the body in a place where they had been certain it would be found.

The storm had eliminated all tracks as well as giving the attackers about a few days head start on any search. Castiel had angrily given up hope on that account. They didn’t know how many people had attacked Jimmy’s party, or even where the battle site had been. But someone, somewhere, must know something.

They’d travelled almost the entire way, and Castiel was pushing his group to see if they could make it to Cloudkeep before sundown when the gates closed. He was sick and tired of this – he wanted answers, and he wanted answers that could only be obtained by beating the shit out of someone. Anger had been boiling away in his gut for _months –_ he was ready to get this over with. One way or another, he would find out why Jimmy had been targeted in the coming days.

The mountain that Cloudkeep was built into had been visible for a few days, but as they got closer and closer, Castiel could start to make out some of the details. Seeing it from the ground was strange – he was used to flying in, leading the dragons and riders he was in charge of. But time had passed since those days, and he could see its marks already. There was an extra wing on the stables, and there was a new tower jutting out of the castle.

A part of him was glad that it had changed. He’d been trying to ignore that this was the place of his nightmares, but seeing it unchanged may have unmanned him. If it wasn’t exactly the same, he could distance himself from it. It wasn’t the Cloudkeep he remembered. It would never hold power over him again.

At the gate, he identified himself and handed over his invitation. The guard looked at him sceptically, but let them in, telling them to wait for a page to show them to their rooms.

Castiel eyed the courtyard they were in while they waited. It was a busy time of day, and the traffic reflected that – Castiel saw everyone from dirty stableboys to regal ladies with dresses covered in lace. They moved around each other seamlessly, one person ignoring the other.

It wasn’t long before a boy in his early teens came up and inquired if they, indeed, were Castiel Novak’s party. Castiel replied that they were, only to be interrupted by someone’s hand falling on the page’s shoulder.

“Ho, Charlie. I’ll show these guests to their rooms.”

Dean winked at Castiel. Castiel tried not to let on that his shoulders had tensed up. Already, the surveillance and confinement had begun. Dean tipped the page a coin, and he gladly ran off.

“Dean,” Castiel acknowledged.

“I’ve had the guards at the gate keep an eye out for you,” Dean said. “Come on, your rooms are this way.”

Dean led them through a few corridors, calling over guards and introducing them to Castiel’s party so they would let them leave and enter the castle. Castiel simply understood that it was a way for the guards to identify them if they tried to leave.

Dean finally opened a door. “Here are your keys,” he said, handing them over. “Rooms for your guard are down the hall. I’ll show them there.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hannah said, but Castiel shook his head at her.

“If you could, I would be pleased,” Castiel overruled her.

Dean led them down the hall and Castiel poked his head inside his suite half expecting it to be bristling with soldiers. It looked normal enough – a sitting room in the front, with another door that Castiel assumed would be the bedroom.

When he stepped back out into the hallway, Dean was leaning against the wall. “I sent your guard off to the guard room to get acquainted with everyone,” he said. “Why don’t we go on a tour?”

“I’ve been here before,” Castiel told him as they exited the west wing of the castle – where all guests were housed. “I lived here for four years.”

“I know,” Dean said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve done a little digging about you. They said you were one of the best riders of the century.”

“Once,” Castiel said, unsettled. At Novakkeep, no one brought up his past. Here, Dean tossed it out into the conversation casually.

“Once,” Dean agreed. “Here’s what I wanted to show you.”

Dean opened a door and tugged Castiel inside before he could protest. It looked like they were in an abandoned storage room – there was some dusty old furniture in the corners, but not much else.

Suddenly certain that Dean had brought him here to kill him, Castiel rounded on him. “Are you going to kill me?”

Dean took a half step back, as if he was startled by the suggestion. “So you know you’re in danger.”

He hadn’t answered the question, Castiel noted icily. “Obviously,” he snapped. “Are you?”

“No!” Dean said. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”

“Because Michael controls your every move, and the words that come out of your mouth are his?” Castiel said bitingly. Dean flinched.

“I still have thoughts of my own,” Dean said lowly. “And Michael knows that if he chokes me with his leash too tightly I’ll fight back. I was going to warn you that you’re in danger, but you’re aware of this. So, the real question is – why did you come?”

Castiel dragged a hand over his face. “Because if I didn’t, Michael would have just sent you back to Novakkeep with orders to raze it. There’s a chance that I could out manoeuvre him here.”

“Michael doesn’t want outright war,” Dean muttered. “He’s in a precarious position right now, and war would probably topple him from the throne. If you hadn’t come, he probably wouldn’t have done anything overt. That’s why I’m recommending that you leave, immediately. Springfest starts tonight – if you stay for the opening feast, that could fulfil your end of the invitation, if you really did want to stay. But if you leave now, I think that would be the best course of action.”

“I can’t,” Castiel grinded out. “I need to know why my brother was killed. And the only way I’m going to find out is by pulling on the string that led me here.”

“Will it be worth it when the same person who killed your brother kills you?” Dean asked, voice hard. “Don’t be idiotic.”

A trickle of ice went down his spine. So Dean knew that Michael had killed Jimmy. Castiel shook his head. “I need to know.”

Dean stared at him. Castiel raised his chin and stared right back.

“I told you that I’ve been doing some digging into your past,” Dean said grudgingly. “I’ve found some things out. Maybe you’ll know enough to help me stitch things together.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, intrigued. If Dean had done his information gathering for him, he would be a fool to pass up the opportunity to investigate what he had found out. “What did you discover?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “A few weird things. More about you than about James. You were the one who came to Cloudkeep, after all.”

Castiel didn’t reply to that, and Dean sighed.

“You were kicked out of the Eagles for treasonous activity. I have no idea why Michael didn’t kill you for that, but perhaps it’s why he’s after you now?”

“After ten years,” Castiel pointed out disbelievingly.

“I know,” Dean said, shrugging. “But it’s the most likely explanation I could come up with.”

Castiel looked past him, mind whirring. “Perhaps you’re looking at the wrong end of the information,” he said slowly. “You’re right: Michael should have killed me when I tried to sabotage him. But he only sent me back to Novakkeep. Why? I could never figure it out. He never pretended to like me when I was his captain.”

Dean narrowed his eyes consideringly. “I thought you would know why.” Castiel shook his head. “Well, it’s a place to start looking. I still urge you to go – I can find out information far easier than you would be able to. I’ll look into your brother’s death for you.”

That was nice, but Castiel still didn’t trust him. “We’ll leave tonight after the feast,” he decided. “Until then, I’m going to look for answers.”

Dean pursed his mouth, but Castiel’s mind was made up.

“Fine.” Dean said the word like it was a curse. “It’s your head, not mine.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you for your concern. But I can handle myself.”

Dean looked at him pensively. “It’s been a while since you were at court, Cas. I’m not sure you’ll remember just how blood thirsty the people here are.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel entered the ballroom angry.

He was wearing some of his best clothes (all the better to get murdered in, he thought sarcastically), but knew no one besides Dean and Michael who would be attending. Perhaps he would recognise some of the nobles from when he used to live here, but even if they recognised him, they wouldn’t want to talk to him.

It was a familiar story.

All afternoon he’d pressed and prodded. He’d visited the stablemaster, once someone who he’d gotten on well with, only to be rebuffed and barred from the stables. Cleaning maids he recognised would pretend they didn’t hear him call out to them. Nobles would sneer or ignore him aloofly.

It made him angry, but he had to admit that Dean was right – coming here himself was getting no answers, unless he started being a lot less nice about it, and by that he meant waving his sword around. And sticking it in some people. Right now that was sounding like a mightly fine idea.

He hoped that Dean had had more luck – and hoped even more that the other man was being legitimate about his claims to want to help. For all Castiel knew, he was feeding him wrong information, and when Castiel tried to leave tonight, he would jump his party with a dozen guards.

The feast was a painful affair, made more tedious by the utter lack of feelings Castiel had for the proceedings. He spoke as little as possible to the people sitting each side of him, and they seemed all too eager to comply. He knew that likely it would fuel the rumour mill tomorrow, but tomorrow he would have left this place, so he didn’t really give a shit.

After all the main meals had been brought out, couples took to the floor, disturbing the sand there had been swirled into perfect patterns. Castiel took it as a sign that he could finally leave this cursed place.

Just as he stood up, a hand fell on his shoulder. Castiel whirled, but it was only Dean standing behind him.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“I have places to be,” Castiel muttered, hoping no one else could hear them.

“I know,” Dean said. “But before that, you should join me.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. Beneath Dean’s jovial exterior, his eyes were tired. So he nodded, and Dean took his hand.

Castiel still remembered the steps from his court days, and Dean took the lead anyway, so there wasn’t much for him to do besides stay in step with him.

“What is it?” Castiel hissed.

“You must have _really_ pissed Michael off,” Dean murmured in his ear. “He’s got soldiers around the edges of the room ready to mark which way you go and kidnap and probably kill you.”

Castiel swallowed. Dean’s hand tightened around his. “So what now?”

“You have two options,” Dean said lowly. “You could use what I’ve told you and try to make a run on your own, which won’t work. Or, you could trust me and I can try to get you out of here in one piece.”

Dismay building in him, Castiel looked subtly around the edges of the hall as Dean swept him around the dancefloor. There were indeed soldiers at every exit.

“How can I know I can trust you?”

Dean met his eyes. “I could have just let you walk into their clutches unknowingly. But here I am, diverting you. It’s been marked by everyone with eyes – when Michael asks, I’ll tell him I was keeping you here for a little longer so there was time to make sure that everyone is in place.”

“Fine,” Castiel spat. “You’re right. What should I do?”

“Do you remember Charlie?” Dean pressed.

“Your second-in-command? With the bright red hair?”

“Yes,” Dean said. “She’s in on this, and she’s with another person I trust, over by the south entrance. I coordinated everyone today, so I made sure they were alone, and as far from everyone else as possible. Go that way, and they’ll take you to somewhere you can hide – they’ll say they were chasing you, and lost you.”

“Okay,” Castiel breathed. “When?”

“Now,” Dean said, and Castiel looked around to see that he’d manoeuvred them across the dance floor so they were as close to the southern entrance as possible.

Castiel broke out of his arms and weaved through the people as quickly as he could, ducking out of the hall. A few metres down, and a familiar face popped out of a side corridor.

“Hey Castiel, long time no see, huh?” Charlie asked, taking his arm. “Now I hope you’re fit, because now we gotta run.”

Another man led the way, with Charlie taking the rear. Castiel gritted his teeth as he felt them stretching out their dragon senses to try to feel the life forces around them. Moving at this speed, it wouldn’t give them much warning, but it was better than nothing.

Charlie opened a door and shoved Castiel inside. “Wait here,” she whispered. “We’ll lead them off.”

And so the waiting started.

Castiel was glad that he’d eaten at dinner, because he was there for hours. A few times he heard voices outside the door, and one time it even opened, but Charlie just winked at him as she pronounced the room empty.

A few hours before dawn, the door opened again. Castiel tensed, but the person was Dean.

“They’ve moved the search into the city,” Dean told him. “But we can’t be too careful right now. I know a way out of the city.”

Castiel followed him out of the room. “What happened?” he asked.

“Well, Charlie messed Benny up so it looked like you’d knocked him out, and that’s why they lost you. He and Charlie will probably be demoted back to regular soldiers if Michael has his say, but I’ll try to protect them. I’ve already got my ass shredded by Michael for letting you get away, but I’ve assured him that I’m doing everything I can to find you. Hopefully the guards that are still around the castle won’t be too alert at this time.”

They sneaked through the castle, Dean directing them down side corridors whenever he felt movement up ahead.

“I can mostly predict where the patrols are going to be since I planned all their routes, but the ruckus tonight have messed things up a bit. Hopefully we don’t run into any trouble.”

With his heart in his throat, Castiel followed in Dean’s footsteps as they slowly made their way through the castle.

Dean froze ahead of him, and Castiel barely stopped in time so they didn’t run into each other.

“What?”

“A lot of people,” Dean murmured. “And there isn’t really anywhere to hide here.”

They had been walking along this corridor for a while. Dean looked around, and then took Castiel’s arm and dragged him behind a statue that was in its own nook off the side of the corridor. It wasn’t a very good hiding place and Castiel gave Dean a cynical look.

“It’s the best I can do in these circumstances,” Dean muttered. “Just be really still. I’m gonna try and convince them that nothing’s here.”

Dean pressed him up against the back of the statue and Castiel tried to imagine that he was melting into it.

A few seconds passed, and Castiel could hear the footsteps. If any of them were dragon riders like Dean, they would be found out for sure. Dean had his chin hooked over Castiel’s shoulder, his face screwed up in concentration.

After a moment, Castiel could feel his influence. It was like all his stress had faded, leaving him suddenly aware that he hadn’t slept in a day. The footsteps of the guards became heavier, and some stumbled.

They all hurried past their hiding place without a glance, probably eager to get back to their beds. Dean sighed against his ear.

“Well, that was close,” he muttered. Castiel looked at him critically – his face was pale. Spreading that much influence over that many people would have taken a lot of energy.

“How close are we?” Castiel pressed.

“Not far now. Come on.”

Indeed, it wasn’t far until a small tunnel that Dean unlocked. “It’s meant for the royal family in times of trouble,” he smirked. “But it will do for now.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“No. I have to stay here and cover your tracks. At the end of the tunnel, they’ll be friends waiting. I trust you’ll be able to find them.” Dean looked at him searchingly. “Why does Michael want to kill you?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel grated. “I would tell you if I did.”

Dean considered him. “You would, wouldn’t you. Well, I trust you. See if you can head back to your keep. I’ll keep digging here.”

“If you trust me, you’re a fool,” Castiel said lowly.

“Well, find me a fool’s cap then,” Dean said seriously. “Now you have to go.”

Castiel heard Dean lock the door after him, and the tunnel descended into darkness. Hoping there was no staircases ahead, Castiel started forward slowly.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean tried to ignore the sweat trickling down the back of his armour. He’d been directing efforts to ‘find’ Cas all night, and with the rising sun, things were starting to heat up already. He’d be glad when summer was over.

“Nothing in the northern quadrant of the castle,” Charlie reported in, her serious expression giving nothing away. Dean nodded.

“Join the search in the other areas, then. And make sure to keep quiet. We’re meant to be doing this on the down low.”

Charlie scurried off, just as a young page slipped through the door.

“Message from King Michael,” he piped up.

Dean took the sealed scroll, already sighing internally. It was a short summons, and Dean chucked it into the fire.

“Have to go and report,” he told the other three members of the Eagle Guard who were in the planning room. They nodded.

Dean traversed the corridors to Michael’s quarters as quickly as he could, trying to make everything appear as if he really had just spent the entire night searching for a fugitive.

The guard outside Michael’s door told him to wait, and Dean was only too happy to. It would give him more time to rehearse his story.

When Michael finally called him in, Dean thought he was as ready as he was going to get. Michael was being pampered by a few of his grooming ladies, who were curling his hair and patting blush onto his cheeks demurely.

“Have you caught him yet?” Michael asked tersely.

“No, sir,” Dean said. It wasn’t hard to look more tired and haggard than he really felt. “The northern quarter of the castle has been cleared, and the other quarters are quickly being searched as well. However I suspect that we will not find him in the castle. Please, let me search Cloudtown.”

“No,” Michael cut him off. “It’s not that important. I know he will surface eventually. I am more concerned at your failure.”

It wasn’t hard to shrink a little, because Dean really was afraid that Michael would punish him.

“Sir, if you’d waited a few days –”

“Then he would have had no trouble escaping, as if you could hinder him in the first place!”

Dean set his jaw. “I think he had inside help. He lived here for years – there’s the possibility that someone he knew had a soft spot for him and helped him escape.”

Michael huffed. “Maybe so. But you still should have caught him.”

Dean swallowed. “I don’t see how I’m meant to be psychic –”

“You had better be!” Michael yelled. “Or don’t you remember what I hold?”

Dean’s fear turned to hate suddenly. “Of course I do. Why is why I’ve been up all night, working non-stop to fix this, until you called me away. Please, let me go back and do my job.”

“I doubt you will find him now,” Michael observed. “But fine. I hope this… doesn’t become a pattern. Or your brother will suffer because of you.”

Dean saluted and turned to leave, stomach churning as Michael’s personal groomers twittered after him.

 

* * *

 

“Have you found anything yet?” Dean murmured as he and Charlie bent over a map of Cloudkeep and the surrounding areas. Supposedly they were thinking about where Cas would have gone – in reality, Dean really wants to know why Michael wants Cas dead.

“Hmm,” Charlie hummed. “I’ve been asking questions and kind of making it seem like Michael is the one who wanted answers. That opened a few new doors, but it’s probably going to come around and bite me in the ass, sooner or later.”

Dean swore under his breath. “You shouldn’t have.”

Charlie shrugged minutely. “It’s been getting the job done. And you know I’m just as curious as to what’s actually going on, right?”

Dean tapped his fingers against the table. “So?”

“I think I was right in asking questions more about his parents than about him,” Charlie said, excitement filling her voice, even though she kept it low. “I’ve found out a lot about his mother – she was an only child and sole heir to Novakkeep, and she led well for years. She was unmarried, but had twins – so they’re bastards, but she recognised them and treated them like they were born in a married bed. The people of Novakkeep didn’t seem to care, one way or another. Northerners are weird,” she said, frowning. “Anyway. Because the twins were bastards, no one knows who their father is. So I bet that has something to do with it.”

“But you don’t have any concrete leads,” Dean said, displeased.

Charlie deflated a bit. “Well, yeah. But I do know that about a year ago, James Novak came to Cloudkeep, and he left in a real hurry. Do you think he discovered anything interesting?”

Hmm. That might be an actual lead. “Keep digging around and see if you can find anything else,” Dean said. “I’ll chase up some answers about what James did when he was here. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, clearly excited and completely ignoring the chance that they would both get killed if any of this came to light. “Anything else?”

“How’s Benny?”

Charlie winced. “I’m glad I hit him with a chair and not my hand. His jaw broke the chair! Can you even believe that. But yeah, he’s still out of action. I hope I didn’t hit him too hard.”

“The nurse told me that he’ll be fine, last time I talked to her,” Dean reassured her. “Now head out.”

Charlie nodded and wove her way through the people in the command room. All search parties had come back empty handed, a fact that Dean was trying not to be smug about. On the outside, he was presenting the front of a simmering Captain who was _very_ unhappy with his troops. It meant that mostly, everyone was trying to stay out of his way. That meant that Dean wouldn’t be able to have many opportunities to give himself away. So far, everything was going to plan.

So. Now to find out what James Novak had discovered last year.

 

* * *

 

Dean followed the loose threads, and gradually wove himself a view of the late Novak. James Novak had been respected, well spoken, quiet but authoritative. He’d spent six days in Cloudkeep last summer, but Dean didn’t remember it. When he dug through his old records, he found that it’d been a week where he’d been in the west, providing labour and a visual sign of Michael’s authority to the people who were still cleaning up after Purgatory had retreated.

James had been here, and he’d been asking questions. Dean tried to follow his tracks as best he could without making anyone suspicious. They’d given up the search for Castiel, but Dean knew that he wouldn’t stay lost forever, and that Cas was right and Michael probably was going to send him up north to level Novakkeep. Well. He could deal with that later. Right now, he wanted to find out why James had been in Cloudkeep.

The official reason was easy enough to figure out. He’d come to review the trade and taxes between Cloudkeep and Novakkeep, and had waited six days for an audience with Michael. As soon as it had happened, he’d left. Dean hoped that it meant that he’d already found out what he’d been looking for, and not because there was nothing to find.

He talked to an older woman, who was mystified by his questions.

“This is a tailor shop, dear. That nice Novak man wanted clothes. That’s why he was here. Nothing odd about that.”

But when Dean inquired as to what clothes he’d ordered, the woman shook her head. “You can look at them, if you want. They’re still here – he never came to pick them back up.”

Puzzled, Dean asked if he could buy the clothes, and walked out of the tailor’s shop with his coin pouch a _lot_ lighter, and a bundle in his arms. When he got back to his rooms and unfolded the clothes, he realised why they had cost so much.

The fabric was rich, the cut beautiful. Dean’s best clothes were perhaps a match for this. But what made Dean the most confused was the colours. They weren’t the traditional blue and silver of the north, but gold and red, Michael’s colours.

Perhaps he was going to declare for the south, but then changed his mind? Dean wondered as he looked at the clothes. There was no way he could let anyone see them – on the chest was the crossed wings and sword of Michael’s crest. Annoyed by the mystery of the clothes, Dean folded them away carefully in the back of one of his trunks.

The other tidbits and clues that Dean found were just as mystifying. James seemed to have visited every shop in Cloudtown, but bought things rarely. He seemed more interested in asking about their holdings, taxes, and how their business fared.

He’d only brought four guards with him, his personal guards, and Dean was willing to bet that they were the ones who had been killed in the ambush with him. But they might not have been – it was a lead he would have to follow up with Castiel.

Frustrated by the lack of progress, Dean spent his days trying to fit the pieces together, while regaining Michael’s trust and keeping peace in Cloudkeep and Cloudtown. Chevy avoided touching minds with him, because his thoughts were always so tumbled together.

Three weeks after Castiel had escaped the castle, Charlie near bursts into the guardroom, and drags Dean off for some ‘Captain-Lieutenant talk.’ Bemused, Dean followed her.

“I found something out!” Charlie whispered to him as they stopped in the middle of a corridor. It wasn’t the worst place to talk – at this time of day there weren’t many people around, and no one could stand within hearing distance without being seen.

“What?”

Charlie hopped once. “James figured something out!”

“…What,” Dean said flatly.

“Okay,” Charlie started, “So I was sniffing around for info, like normal. And I got a tip that someone down at the Red Dog tavern would know something. So you know, I went down there –”

“Charlie!” Dean rebuked.

“It was totally fine, I was totally safe,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And you know, I start to ask some questions. No one was talking, until someone asked about Castiel.”

“What about him?”

Charlie shrugged. “I’m not really sure, but I was like yeah, they were brothers. Twins. And that started some tongues wagging. Apparently the owner knew James and James’ men slept there while he was here last summer. And they were planning something, and the owner said that they all celebrated the night before they left, and that they were crowing that they’d found out something massive.”

Dean looked at her. Charlie looked back. “It’s a start,” Dean said eventually. “Good job.”

Charlie grinned. “Now we know for sure that James was onto something. Now that I’ve got a solid lead, I can start asking more specific questions. I’ll bring Benny up to speed as well.”

Dean nodded. “Have you got any updates about your actual work?”

Charlie seemed to shrink a little. “Everything’s going fine, but…”

“What?” Dean asked, uneasiness squirming through him.

Charlie sighed. “Your dad sent a messenger saying that he’s coming to stay at Cloudkeep for a week or so. So you’re going to have to deal with that.”

_Great._ A complication that Dean just did not need right now.

“I’ll deal with him,” Dean said firmly. “Don’t let him corner you or anyone else like last time, direct all enquiries to me, etcetera. If he’s got any questions to ask, he can ask them to my face.”

Charlie tried to smile, but it came out more pained than anything. “If you say so. Well, I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

“Thanks Charlie,” Dean said, relieved.

A lead on James, and John was coming to Cloudkeep. Not exactly the best news, but Dean could deal with it. Even so, it would probably be best to look into what James had found out before John got here. He would need all his resources to deal with his father.

Dean shook his head, and got to work.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel stretched his feet out so there were nearer to the fire. He didn’t mind the cold, since ‘cold’ was such a misnomer here in the south, where they had never seen a true winter. But still, he liked the warmth that the fire seemed to spit out into the night sky.

He’d been living in the woods a day’s journey north of Cloudkeep for almost four weeks now. Dean had assured him that a message had been sent to Novakkeep, but Castiel was impatient to see his home. Besides, who was teaching Claire the sword if he wasn’t there to guide her lessons?

On the other side of the fire, Revel shifted. He was one of the rebels that ran the small encampment that Castiel had found at the end of the long tunnel that Dean had directed him to. They had given him more of the story that Dean had not been able to whisper to him on their tense journey out of the castle.

Dean had been in contact with the rebels for nearly two years now. The rebels themselves had been operating for longer than that, but only the leader, a large man named Brydda, knew that their contact in the castle was the Michael Sword himself. The rest thought that Castiel had been sneaked out through a gate, and Castiel had not corrected their guesses. If Dean wanted the secret tunnel to remain secret, then he would not reveal it to anyone.

Revel was a strong, dark man whose good humour lifted the spirits of everyone in the camp almost as well as he organised everything that needed organising. Castiel liked him most out of the people who he had met here, for his good humour and because he did not pester Castiel about his past.  

One thing that Castiel had not expected to deal with on his journey to the south was his treasonous past. But as soon as the rebels knew who he was, that was all they would talk about – how amazed they were to have the former rebel leader Castiel in their camp. Castiel had tried to tell them that he had long ago left behind his rebel tendencies, but most had not heeded his words. Brydda, with a prompt from Revel, had had to order them to stop asking Castiel questions about it.

Castiel leaned forward on his seat, which was just a log dragged conveniently close to the fire. He’d tried to bury the memories of his crazy rebel days, but being back in the camp had only woken them up.

He’d been promoted to Eagle Captain on his nineteenth birthday, after the last Captain had died in the war against Purgatory. He’d been young, idealistic, and reckless, his ambition burning so that he could distinguish himself from his older twin, who he saw to be good and just, and everything that Castiel wanted already. He’d seized the position of Captain with both hands, but had fumbled in his wielding of it.

It had taken many deaths before he could competently and calmly lead the Eagle Guard, and even now Castiel wondered how he got out alive of some situations they’d been in. Many of his guard hadn’t, and it was still something that he blamed himself for. In the days of the war, he’d been sharpened and honed, until he was one of the deadliest weapons in Michael’s grip. He had questioned nothing, until they came across a village in Purgatory – it had been burned to the ground, with the villagers still inside their homes. Castiel knew that orders had been given against this type of behaviour, but when he had reported it to Michael, Michael had laughed.

Even now, his words still rang in Castiel’s ears.

_“It’s just a few villagers, my Captain. Let the soldiers blow off some steam. It will make them easier to control, and eager for more blood. Humans are so easy to control in that way. Give them a reward for their behaviour, and they will_ want _to do it again, until the act is reward enough.”_

Castiel shuddered in the night air.

“I would have thought that it would be warm to you,” Revel said, amused.

“It is,” Castiel told him. “I was thinking of something else.”

“Your castle?”

Castiel shook his head, and Revel didn’t ask any more questions, knowing that Castiel would continue on his own if he wanted. It was one of the things that he liked about the other man.

“I was thinking about my past, and the war,” Castiel admitted.

Revel’s eyes sharpened in interest, but still he did not pry. Castiel filled the space between them instead, wondering if Revel’s silences were designed to draw out words.

“I remembered the time that I decided Michael should be overthrown. He brushed off the deaths of hundreds of villagers and told me it was good, for it stoked the bloodlust in the men. I was horrified, but I didn’t show it. That night, I began to organise the resistance.”

“It was hard during the war, and we were few in number,” Revel noted. “But we have grown since then. The people want peace more than anything, and now that they have it, they can only see how Michael’s violences still taint the land. Brydda thinks that if we start the rebellion, the people will follow us.”

“Maybe in the south,” Castiel admitted. “But the north clings to its traditions like nothing else. They loathe Michael, but it is a familiar loathing. They would not give it up for anyone else.”

Revel pondered this. “Not even for freedom from the monarchy?”

Castiel smiled. “I did not say that. But even if one day we break fully from the south, they will still bicker among themselves and profess to hate the king. If this system that Brydda is talking about takes place, with officials being elected for a set period of time by the people…” Castiel shook his head. “I do not know how they will react.”

 “It is very different from the monarchy,” Revel agreed. “But don’t you think it would be fair? If a leader was doing something that his people didn’t agree with, the next election he would be removed from power. And the terms are short enough so that no one man could gather enough power to overthrow the system.”

Castiel thought that men who lusted after power would not be so easily removed from it, but kept the thought to himself. When he had led the rebels, there had never been any talk of an _after._ Now that years had gone by, he was glad to see that someone had hope of winning out over Michael.

Castiel turned as he heard footsteps approaching, and recognised Matthew, one of the youngest rebels.

“Brydda said to tell you that the last of the messengers have sent back reports,” the young man said. “None have been able to find out anything about your twin.”

Castiel bit back a wave of frustration. He had taken advantage of the rebels fawning to ask if any information could be found about the ambush that had killed Jimmy. But if there was no information, then this was a dead end as well.

“It is only a first sweep,” Matthew said, no doubt seeing Castiel’s frustration. “With our agents looking for that information now, it’s more likely they will find it over time than with their first initial questions. You said that it was likely that the site of the battle would have been hidden, with only those who knew about it being in their graves or sealed with coin. But what coin can buy, other coin can buy back. We will find out where the ambush happened soon enough.”

It wouldn’t be soon enough for Castiel, who yearned to stand face to face with the person who had cut his brother down. It was all but certain that Michael had ordered the hit, but Castiel wanted to know who had struck the killing blow. He would relish killing him.

Matthew lingered, and Castiel sighed internally, for he was young and idealistic and looked up to Castiel for actions he had long since put behind him.

“Thank you, Matthew,” Revel said, a clear dismissal. Matthew sighed softly but turned to leave.

“Why do you refuse to talk to them? You realise that it only deepens your mystery, to always be talking to Brydda and I, the leaders of the rebels. They all think we are planning some elaborate attack that will end the monarchy for good.”

“I have no wish to talk to them,” Castiel said bluntly. “I am grateful for your help, but I cannot help the rebels any longer. My place is in the north.”

“The north is not as untouched by the monarchy as you seem to think,” Revel said thoughtfully. “After all, who is most likely to be found guilty for your brother’s murder?”

Castiel flushed, but hoped that Revel could not see it in the dark and the firelight. “It is true,” he ceded. “But even so, I cannot be a part of the rebels anymore.”

“It is hard to think that your ideals have been truly stamped out,” Revel observed. “You were the face of the rebellion for near two years, and you started it – that is not the type of thing that breaks easily.

“Men are broken more easily than ideals,” Castiel said lowly, and Revel flinched away from his words.

“Even so,” Revel agreed. “But it must have been monstrous indeed, for the type of fire that must have been lit in your heart would have been difficult to extinguish.”

Castiel thought of Grace, her wise heart, and how emotionlessly she had been killed. Revel must have seen something of it in his face, for his eyes softened.

“I see that I am not wrong. But the wrong that was done to you – shouldn’t you have been angered by it, and your determination fuelled?”

“I was near driven mad with loss,” Castiel admitted. “I fled to my homekeep. I could not envision anything worse than what had been done to me, but I was told that it would be done if I did not keep my head down. When I received the letter I was shocked – I had thought that I had surely doomed the people of Novakkeep for fleeing there, for Michael is known to be merciless to traitors. But my name was not well known even in the rebel circles, and I thought that Michael feared the powers of the north and Novakkeep as its heart. But I was wrong, for he acted against Jimmy ruthlessly. So now I have no idea why I was spared.”

Revel pondered over his words for a time. “So the threat was why you are too afeared to join the rebel movement?”

Castiel hesitated. “In part,” he admitted. “But the fire in my heart has burned out. I would be of no use to you. But yes, I fear what would happen if Michael struck against me. I am in charge of all of Novakkeep now, and I cannot risk their lives.”

Revel regarded him under lowered brows. “But can’t you see? This is why you must fight back, so you will no longer have to live in fear, for yourself or for them. If you don’t Michael will surely use your fear to control you, and take away everything you love. It is their dearest wish to grind the rebels down to insignificant dust, or kill them. They killed your brother for his actions, but you have ground the fight out of yourself.”

There was a truth in his words that Castiel fought not to recognise. Michael _was_ a threat that hung over him, and one that wasn’t going to go away unless drastic action was taken. But a deeper part of him was still broken over Grace’s death. It could no more fight than he could grow wings and fly.

“I have given you much to think about,” Revel admitted. He stood up. “I will go to preside over the change of guard.”

But before he could move away, the central bells at the centre of the camp started ringing. Revel’s face paled.

“What do the bells mean?” Castiel asked sharply, jumping to his feet.

“We are attacked!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Brydda and Revel are stolen from different book series, but if anyone can pick them out, I will very impressed.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean flicked the page of the report, sighing to himself as the paragraphs continue in excruciating detail. It was from one of the informants that Charlie had set up, but there was nothing new in it that Dean was interested in. Of course, the informant didn’t know that – Dean and Charlie had meticulously given them all orders which would hopefully distil information about Castiel or James Novak, while not seeming to.

Several of the reports had given him solid information, about where and how James had travelled to Cloudkeep and how and when he had left. Dean had been very interested to discover that James had fled in the middle of the night, presumably scaling the cliffs somehow, because the watch hadn’t seen him at the main gate. Dean had been asking some subtle questions inside the keep as well, and most of what he’d found out had disgusted him. He’d known that Michael wasn’t exactly the best ruler ever, but he’d been given clear, concrete examples that only displayed how poor a leader he really was.

Michael had dithered on the infrastructure plans that were going on in the city below Cloudkeep, but he hadn’t stopped the building of the summer castle. He hadn’t appointed a new Citymaster immediately when the old one had died suddenly, meaning that nearly everyone who was qualified for the job didn’t want it because of the giant mess that would have to be cleaned up. He’d ordered that all white horses were to belong to those of royal blood only, and when soldiers went out to seize the horses, they killed the ones who didn’t come immediately. Then there was the matter of the city guard: Dean was often removed from the daily doings of Cloudtown because his job often meant he had to move around the country, but the reports he was getting in now showed that in his absence the guard had racketed up their sudden searches and detentions. Dean had spoken harshly to them, but the city guard was almost not under his jurisdiction.

It rankled to be provided with what Dean was sure was only the tip of the iceberg. No wonder the rebels were gaining power in the east and north. Dean saw no reason the townspeople should support Michael, other than tradition. Dean wasn’t in charge of all the guards in the kingdom, but from what he’d picked out from his new crop of informers, things weren’t looking good outside of Cloudkeep, and they weren’t improving. No wonder Michael had wanted Castiel’s support. The north and west noble houses bickered with each other, even as the east profited off it. It all gave Dean a headache. 

Dean looked up as a page knocked on the door, only to summon him to Michael’s quarters. Grumbling to himself and wondering what Michael wanted now, Dean made his way there, already bringing up his well formulated excuses for the new informants.

Michael was lounging in his sitting room when Dean was admitted, and Dean stood at attention while he waited for whatever Michael wished to say to him.

Michael looked him over, like he always did. Dean was never sure what Michael thought after he did it, but he rarely said anything, so Dean was content with that.

“I just received word of a report that concerns you,” Michael said lightly. Dean didn’t let himself move, but at the edge of his mind he felt Chevy start to growl.

“About what matter?” Dean managed to ask in a level voice.

“The Novak northerner who was here, who you let slip through your fingers,” Michael said languidly, as if his words didn’t sent a spike of fear through Dean.

A messenger came through the door of the chamber, covered in mud and looking exhausted.

“Sire,” the messenger said, and Michael nodded, even though Dean could see his hidden disgust.

“The rebel Castiel Novak has been captured, along with several of the rebel camp that he was hiding with. They’re currently being held in the Glavetown prison cells. What would you like done with them?”

A smile creeped across Michael’s face. “Excellent,” he purred, dismissing the page with a wave of his hand. “Now Dean, why don’t you go and pick him up for me? It might distract you from the… questions you’ve been asking.”

Dean’s blood turned to ice, but somehow he made himself nod and go through the gestures of asking when, where, who and what Michael wanted, exactly. Michael looked pleased to have cowed him so, but inside, Dean raged – he was sick to death of being used, and Castiel didn’t deserve to die for some imagined crime on Michael’s behalf. Dean wouldn’t endanger Sam, but he was not coming back to the castle.

Dean leaves Michael’s chambers, resolve building in his chest. He almost runs into Charlie, he’s so involved in his thoughts of what he would need to bring with him.

“Dean!” she said, looking around shiftily. “We need to talk.”

“Not now,” Dean said through gritted teeth, walking past her. Charlie scurried at his heels as Dean strode through the corridors.

“No, it’s really important,” Charlie hissed.

“What?” Dean asked, ducking into the armoury and finding his riding gear. Charlie looked around, and then leaned forward.

“ _I know what James found out,_ ” she whispered harshly, and Dean’s entire attention turned to her.

“What was it?” he asked urgently.

“Not here,” Charlie said.

“Then meet me outside Chevy’s roost, and tack her up for me,” Dean said, curiosity burning. As Charlie scurried off, he gathered everything he could lay his hands on – his riding armour, a heavy cloak, his bow, spear and sword, as well as shoving as many travel bread pieces as he could inside his supplies bag. He also tried to grab a few bit of food that might last – some bread, some apples. He found one of the smaller tents and slung that over his shoulder. On a whim, he shoved the fancy clothes that the tailor had given him into a bag. As he left the room, he attached a first aid kit to his pouch, and hoped his hurried preparations would be enough.

Charlie was lurking just inside Chevy’s stall, where it wouldn’t be obvious she was standing there. Chevy’s riding gear was in a pile at her feet. Dean unceremoniously dumped his supplies and picked up her saddle.

_‘_ I/Chevy will not be tamed/ridden by a funaga-li _,’_ she said haughtily, adding the derogative _li_ onto the ending of the thought symbol for human. Dean was impressed that she hadn’t flamed Charlie.

_‘_ You should recognise Charlie,’ Dean reminded her gently, but Chevy only snorted. Dean resisted the urge to comment that he was human as well, but Chevy was letting him buckle her saddle on.

‘You are freerider/Dean. I/Chevy am freeflier, and together we can ride the wind/soar high.’

Dean shook his head as if that could dislodge her from his mind.

“What did you find out about James?”

Charlie looked up from where she was sorting his equipment, before taking a few steps over. Dean feels a trickle of premonition, and sure enough, Charlie says something momentous.

“James Novak was next in line for the throne.”

Dean stared at her. “ _How_?”

Charlie bounced on her feet. “I told you that we never knew James and Castiel’s father, and that their mother never married him – well, it was because that Michael’s father was their father. Technically, Michael, James and Castiel are brothers.”

Thoughts fall into place in Dean’s shocked mind, comments now with proper context, and thinks about Michael’s determination to find Castiel. No wonder – a possible future king with strong ties to the north, who could unite the land as it hadn’t bene in hundreds of years? Dean could already hear the stories the bards were going to whip up about this.

“If he even lives that long,” Dean muttered to himself.

“What?”  Charlie asked.

“Michael got a messenger, they found Cas and have him captive,” Dean said lowly. Charlie looked grim.

“What are we doing, then?”

Dean tapped his foot against the ground. “Michael said that I should go and get him, personally. Probably knows that I like him and wants to torture me by making me fetch him to be killed. Well, jokes on him. I’m not obeying this time.”

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean? Doesn’t he still have Sam?”

“Yes,” Dean said, anger rising in him, but he shoved it down. “But I have contacts with the rebels. We’ll make it seem like they staged a coup on the prison while I’m there, and they took me hostage. Michael won’t want to kill Sam unless he _has_ to, because he knows that it’s the only thing keeping me and my father in line, and without Winchester, he’s got no real power base. My plan is to tell Cas who he is, then help him lead the rebels in a rebellion.”

Charlie bit her lip. “That’s gambling with Sam’s life.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Dean hissed. “I love Sam, but this might be the only chance we’ll get to overthrow Michael. I’m going to minimalize the risk as best I can, and if Michael kills Sam, then there’s nothing that’s going to stop me from chopping his head off. Sam never liked Michael anyway.” Dean took a deep breath.

“Okay,” Charlie said. “I’ll hold down the fort here and try to convince Michael that your story’s legit. Good luck.”

Dean hugged her tightly, and Charlie leant into him. Chevy snorted at the display, but didn’t intrude on Dean’s thoughts.

‘Let us/freefliers hunt,’ Chevy sent impatiently, and Dean let Charlie go. They loaded everything up as quickly and as evenly as they could, and then Dean settled himself into Chevy’s saddle. No one questioned them as they made their way to the launching cliffs.

“See you round,” Charlie said, and Dean barely had time to raise his hand in farewell before Chevy had jumped off the side of the mountain.

Dean yanked his flight goggles down and leaned into Chevy, feeling her joy as she spread her wings and levelled out a few hundred metres above the plains below. In front of them, the horizon stretched, the bright midday sun streaming across the sky. The simple cleanness of it, bereft of Michael’s schemes and plots, almost made Dean want to cry.

‘We/freefliers know that the sky is safe/a haven,’ Chevy sent sombrely. Dean could only agree.

And so they winged their way across the sky.

 

* * *

 

Dean pulled back a branch so he could see the Glavetown gaol more clearly. He and Chevy had flown lowly over the forest so as to not be spotted by their sentries. They had found the rebel camp, burned out with not a soul there. Chevy hadn’t been able to get any clear scent with all of the smoke in the air, and there had been too many frantic trails mixed with routine ones for Dean to distinguish which way the rebels might have fled to regroup. Despite the state of the camp, Chevy’s nose told them that few people had died there – Cas must have been one of the unlucky few to get caught.

‘And somehow get recognised,’ Dean mused to Chevy. She snorted.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Dean murmured. ‘We have to get him out.’

‘He/Destroyer must be thwarted,’ Chevy agreed. Dean brushed off the unease her words made him feel.

‘You’re right, but first we need to find the rebels. We flew like the wind to get here this fast, but they’ll be expecting someone soon.’

A movement across the clearing caught Chevy’s attention, and Dean looked to where her eye had been caught. It was too far away for his human eyes to see anything, but Chevy’s predator eyes could pick out the mottled green of camouflage fabric against the foliage. Chevy was unimpressed with the disguise, but Dean caught her amused underthought about all humans bad eyesight.

‘I bet that’s a rebel spy,’ Dean said softly. ‘I’m going to go over there and ask them where the rest of the rebels are. Stay here.’

Chevy huffed a sigh at him, but it wasn’t filled with fire, so Dean knew that she was agreeable to his suggestion. Slowly he moved back through the greenery, so any sounds he made would be covered up by the natural movements of the forest.

It took him nearly an hour to circle around to the rebel spy, mostly because she was so well hidden. Dean had thought that she would be easy to find, but even with Chevy to guide him, he can only just make out the outline of a person himself. When he taps her shoulder, the spy jumps a foot in the air, but turns swiftly and has a knife at his chest.

“Easy,” Dean murmured. “I’m not here to rat you out. I want to talk to Brydda.”

The girl’s mouth twisted. “Don’t we all, but he’s in there.”

Dean looked in dismay at the gaol. “He got caught?”

“He was defending the exit and letting people escape the flames,” she said. “If it had only been men, he would have left – he knows his value to the rebel movement. But he couldn’t stand there and let people burn to save his own skin. So they caught him.”

Dean could only respect Brydda’s decision, but he understood why the girl’s voice was bitter. The rebels had few leaders, but those that did lead were well trusted and respected. Brydda’s loss was a huge blow.

“Who’s in charge now?”

“Revel,” the girl said. Dean hadn’t heard of the man, but hopefully he would know who Dean was.

“I need to talk to him.”

“I have to stay here for the next few hours.” The girl shrugged.

“Where are you all staying then?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, I’m not going to tell you that.”

Dean resisted the urge to scream. “It’s very important,” he said slowly. “I have information that could topple Michael from the throne. But if I don’t give it to the rebels soon, it’ll be useless. I assume that you’re planning a raid on the gaol?” She nodded. “Good. We’re going to need to get the people who are inside, out. Now, are you with me, or not? Where is the camp?”

She bit her lip, but Dean saw the moment she decided to tell him.

 

* * *

 

Dean leaned low over Chevy’s neck as she swooped into the small landing space at Glavetown.

“Ho!” He cried out. “I’m here on behalf of King Michael, heir to all of these lands. Where is the mayor of Glavetown?”

A few people peered out of their homes to gawk at the dragon that had landed on their green. Chevy was doing her best to look imposing, a role that she thoroughly enjoyed.

A man hurried out to meet him.

“A dragon! In our humble town!” he preened, and Dean ignored his dislike. “Welcome, welcome, oh great dragon rider! I am very glad indeed that our missive received such a speedy response from the capital.

“Your missive contained important news,” Dean said, sharpening his voice with impatience. “If the news is as important as you claimed, then the response was warranted. If, however, you have overestimated the value of your prisoners…”

“Oh, no, of course not!” The mayor wrung his hands. “I will show you the prisoners, if you’d like?”

“I would,” Dean said coolly. He hid his relief – the mayor would take him to the prisoners, so part one of the plan was complete. Chevy curled into a ball and rested her head on her paws – a sign to those watching that things were going according to plan.

Dean followed the mayor into the gaol, going deeper than he liked. If he wasn’t in position in time… Dean shook his head. Things would happen, and there was nothing he could do anymore, besides ride the tide of the chaos that was about to break out.

They came to the holding area, where cells lined the walls. Dean sorted through the people in each cell, searching for either Cas or Brydda. He saw neither.

“We are keeping the high danger prisoners behind our high security wall,” the man confided. By the expression on his face, Dean was sure he held a high contempt for all those imprisoned here.

They went past three guards sitting in an antechamber, and one of them unlocked another door. Dean followed the mayor inside, nervousness building.

There were three cells inside, one on either wall and one at the end of the corridor. The cell to the left was empty, but the one to the right held several people, who Dean assumed were the rebels that had been caught. Sitting against the far wall was Castiel.

Their eyes met, and Cas’s eyes narrowed. Dean looked away, and Cas didn’t do anything to give away that they knew each other. The mayor continued onwards, and stopped outside the last cell.

There was only one man inside, and Dean grimaced at the amount of blood covering Brydda’s face and pooled around him on the floor.

“A real rebel,” the mayor said excitedly. Dean side-eyed him. His cheeks were flushed and there was a gleam in his eye that Dean could only see as greed.

“Is he alive?” Dean asked off-handedly. “If he’s dead he’s worth a lot less.”

The mayor sucked in a little gasp. “Chelten!” he bellowed.

One of the guards from outside trotted down the hall. “What is it, sir?”

“Is this man alive?”

The guard looked at Brydda. “He definitely was when we put him in there. Struggled enough for three men. And he’s drank the water we’ve given him. Do you want me to poke him awake for you?”

“Yes,” the mayor said, pleased.

The guard sighed, but fished out the keys from his belt. Just as he turned the lock, an explosion sounded from outside.

“What was that?” the guard demanded.

“The rebels are attacking!” the mayor near screamed. “I knew they would come for me!”

Chevy’s distinctive roar sounded, and both other men went pale. Chevy was clearly a fire breather, and there was a forest surrounding the town.

“They’re attacking my dragon!” Dean said, even though nothing of the sort was happening. At the moment, she was enjoying herself as she wrecked destruction on the gaol front. Archers from the woods were pinning down the men inside the gaol, but Dean didn’t think that would hold them for long. “Go out there and fight back!”

The mayor spluttered, clearly caught between being angered at being ordered and wanting to please the representative of the king. But Dean hadn’t directed the words at him, and the guard grimly nodded. As he passed, Dean knocked into him.

The guard looked at him, annoyed, but Dean put his best glare on and the guard muttered a curse as he passed.

“Follow me, follow me, there’s a safe room that I’ve prepared,” the mayor babbled, wringing his hands.

“He’s left his keys in the lock,” Dean said in disgust, even though the guard had done no such thing and Dean had plucked the keys off him as he’d walked past.

The mayor’s eyes bulged, and he turned to look at the door. Dean caught him in a chokehold and hung on grimly until he’d stopped moving. The mayor was a witness to what was going to happen in the gaol, and Dean couldn’t risk that he’d come to the correct conclusion of what happened. He wouldn’t bet Sam’s life on the mayor’s foolishness.

The remaining rebels al had their attention fixed on him. Dean unlocked the door to Brydda’s cell but when he rolled the big man over, he was genuinely unconscious.

“Damn,” Dean muttered. It was going to be very difficult to move Brydda out of here.

There was a few keys on the keychain, so Dean started trying them in the other cell, one by one.

“Who are you?” one of the rebels asked suspiciously.

“The guy who’s gonna save all your asses,” Dean said unceremoniously. “There’s a rebel attack going on outside that’s drawing attention to everything. All of you are going to have to pretend that you killed the mayor and have me prisoner to control my dragon. Can some of you carry Brydda?”

Some of the rebels were unsettled by Dean’s casual mention of Brydda’s name, but Cas just rolled his eyes.

“I’m flattered that you came all the way out here just to rescue me, Dean, but I’m sure I could have managed by myself.”

“Yeah, you were totally ready to escape,” Dean said flatly, raising an eyebrow. Finally finding the right key, he opened the cell door. Some of the rebels pushed past to get to Brydda, while others clustered around the door. Chevy was still roaring.

“If you want it to look real, we better dirty you up a little,” a young woman said grimly. Dean nodded, and ducked into Brydda’s cells, where he smeared some of the pooled blood across his face and clothes.

“It’ll look better if some’s running,” she apologised, then socked him in the nose.

Dean swore as he felt it crack and begin to throb. “Is that good enough?” he asked, and the woman nodded. Dean regretfully drew two daggers, dropped them in the blood then tossed them aside. He liked them, but not more than Sam’s life, and this had to look convincing.

“I’ll take that,” the woman said, and unsheathed Dean’s sword. She calmly put a slice up her arm, and a few others came forward to receive superficial cuts that bloodied his sword beautifully.

One man took his left arm, while Cas took his right. “Pretend to be stunned,” Cas advised, and then the rebels kicked the door open.

Dean let them drag him towards the door. It wasn’t very hard – his nose was taking up a lot of his attention, and the pain of his body was driving him towards Chevy’s. She was still outside, flaming buildings and trees, and Dean was alarmed that she might have actually started a forest fire. Arrows were still raining down, and she had actually been hit by a few of them.

The group burst out into the open, and arrows started firing more densely away from them, where Dean assumed that some soldiers were being pinned down.

“The prisoners are escaping!”

The man holding his left arm shook him hard enough that Dean missed the next half minute of conversation, which was mostly the guards screaming at them to stop, and the rebels telling Chevy to back off or they’d kill him. Chevy had been forewarned of this part of the plan, but she could smell Dean’s blood, and Dean had to put all his energy into assuring her that he was fine, and that she shouldn’t ‘rescue’ him from the rebels.

They rushed into the forest, the rebels who had been firing at the gaol starting to retreat as well. The man holding onto Dean let go, and not suspecting it, Dean tripped over a tree root and slammed his face into the ground.

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes up groggily, his head throbbing. Or just his nose.

When he opens his eyes, he realises that he’s curled up against Chevy, who has her wing slung protectively over him. It’s dark enough for him to realise that it is night, and a second after that he realises that he can hear a fire crackling.

‘What happened?’ he asked Chevy.

Chevy lifted her wing enough so that she could curl her head around to look at him, her golden eyes glowing in the low light.

‘You/we are safe,’ she said, and then retreated from his mind. Dean winced. She was obviously upset – he promised that he wouldn’t really get hurt on this mission, but he had. She wouldn’t be happy with him for a few days, at least.

“Are you awake?”

Dean sat up slowly and crawled out from under Chevy’s wing and sat gingerly by the fire. On the other side, Cas watched him pensively.

“What happened?” Dean asked again, and this time got a response.

“You passed out, and I had to carry you. The rest of the rebels went on ahead, but your dragon wouldn’t leave you and she was making too large a trail, so we split paths. I tried to lead her over some rivers and rocky grounds, but I suspect that it’s not going to be long before our pursuers catch up. They must have put out the fires a while ago.”

Dean rubbed his head. “We should fly away. In the dark, no one can spot Chevy unless they’re a dragon.” Behind him, Chevy preened a little to herself before remembering that she was mad with him.

“I was hoping that you would say that,” Cas said, relieved. “Let’s go, now.”

Cas started kicking out the fire. Dean turned to Chevy. ‘Can we fly?’

‘To what barud?’ Chevy asked dismissively. Dean grimaced at the thought symbol for ‘home.’

“Where to?”

“We can go back to Novakkeep,” Cas suggested, and Dean really had no reason to say no. It was a good a place as any to tell Cas he was next in line for the throne.

‘We go to Castiel’s barud,’ Dean said. ‘We have flown there before.’ He sent a thought containing Novakkeep from the sky.

Chevy sighed but stood up and stretched her wings out. Cas stepped up next to him.

“Ready to fly?”

“As much as I’ll ever be,” Cas said, eyes dark.

“Chevy is a fast and steady flier,” Dean reassured him.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Dean eyed him, but Cas refused to meet his eyes.

Dean thought he knew what was bothering him, but was polite enough not to say so out loud, since last time they’d talked about it, Cas had basically had a breakdown. He pulled himself up onto Chevy’s back, patting her scales fondly. ‘Be quiet, for him, please.’

Chevy snorted. ‘He is timid/broken around us/freefliers. But brave enough to still mount/fly.’ Dean could tell that she was grudgingly impressed, and not just from flying when he was scared. They must have bonded while Dean was unconscious, not an easy feat considering that Cas wouldn’t speak to her.

‘We have touched minds/traded thoughts,’ Chevy calmly corrected him. She snorted at his surprise. ‘The scent of his last bonded/freeflier hangs heavy around him. Little wonder even you/funaga can sense it.’

Unsettled, Dean leaned down to give a hand to Cas, who seemed grateful for the help up. “Ready?” Dean asked as Cas settled himself behind him.

Cas nodded, and Chevy opened her wings. Dean held himself loose. He could feel Cas echoing his posture, ready against Dean’s back for the sudden movement.

Chevy wouldn’t have a cliff to jump off here, and with two passengers Dean knew it wasn’t going to be easy. She was a big dragon, but he still funnelled his determination and confidence to her, and she perked up from the attention.

With a downswipe of her wings, Chevy leaped as high as she could, churning wind snapping branches around the clearing. Dean held himself inside his mind as best he could, so that Chevy wouldn’t be distracted by him.

After a few heart stopping moments, Dean recognised the easier pattern of her wingbeats as they began to steadily gain height. Letting out a breath, he turned to smile at Cas. “Not so bad, hey?”

“She’s quite impressive,” Cas acknowledged.

They climbed as high as Chevy was comfortable with to avoid prying eyes on the ground, even though it left Dean frozen except for where Cas was pressed against him. Chevy didn’t like the cold air either, being a firebreather, but she turned northwards.

“We might be able to go lower in a few hours,” Dean said, teeth chattering. Cas only grunted in response, and Dean could hardly blame him.

There was a thick bank of clouds underneath them, so Dean couldn’t make out the landscapes that he would normally mark their distance by. Chevy didn’t need them after she’d made the journey to Novakkeep once, but it would have been nice to see the distance they were crossing. Even though Chevy could smell the land under them changing, to Dean, it just seemed like they travelled over an unending sea of clouds.

Chevy would be nigh unseeable in the dark, as long as they didn’t go too low. Dean was just glad they wouldn’t have to fly any higher. It was cold enough as it was.

When Dean saw the first rays of sunlight beginning to reach up over the horizon, he suggested to Chevy that they should begin to go down. Chevy complied eagerly, and Dean jostled Cas from where he’d been huddled.

“We’re going down,” he yelled over the wind. And indeed, Chevy had tipped into a fast dive that saw them gaining speed almost as quickly as they lost height. Cas’s arms tightened around his waist.

Chevy levelled out slowly, using the increased speed as best she could. The sun rose, and since they were under the cloud level, Dean felt a bit warmer.

“At least it doesn’t feel like I’m about to snap my frozen nose off anymore,” Cas said loudly.

“I know, right!” Dean replied. “We’ll land soon – it’ll be easier to move at night.”

Cas sighed and Dean fought to not to do the same.

 

* * *

 

Dean stirred the small camping pot he had. Cas had brought it back filled with fresh snow, and it would make a good base for the stew that Dean was making. Hopefully breaking the news to Cas that he was royalty would be better over a warm dinner/breakfast.

Cas had already set up a small tent against Chevy, who was already snoring. She had flown for nearly eight hours last night, and deserved all the rest she could get. She’d already scarfed down the meat that Dean had brought for her, but with the amount she ate, it would only last another day. Chevy could hunt for herself, but it would take time and energy away from their goal of reaching Novakkeep.

Dean set the spoon he’d been stirring with aside and leaned back to look at Cas, who was staring into the unnaturally yellow fire. Dragonfire usually took on a colour specific to the dragon who breathed it, and Chevy’s was a vibrant yellow.

“Thank you,” Cas said. Dean blinked.

“What, for making stew? It’s pretty simple.”

Cas looked at him like he was a moron. “For saving me. From what the rebels said, you only came because I was there.”

“Michael ordered me to bring you back to his keep,” Dean agreed. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been there.”

Cas looked at the ground. “And I suppose I’m thanking you for before that, as well. I insulted you, when you had just risked your life to help me escape Cloudkeep. I was ungrateful. And I’d like to say that I trust you now. You’ve proved yourself several times.”

Dean smiled. “I’m glad. But there was another reason I pulled you from Glavetown. A more important reason.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Dean took a breath. “I found out why James was killed.”

Cas’s eyes focused on him so intently that Dean sat, frozen under them. “Well?” Cas demanded.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Dean said slowly. “James was next in line for the throne after Michael.”

Cas stared at him. Dean stared back. “You’re kidding,” Cas said flatly. It was almost an accusation.

“I’m not,” Dean said apologetically. “Michael knew. It’s probably why he left you alive, all those years ago. Insurance. But now he wants both of your gone. James was in Cloudkeep, and was rallying support for his cause. That was probably why Michael decided that both of you were too big a problem to deal with.”

Cas stood up suddenly. “I… see. Well, he did want leadership, and he was good at it. He likely thought he could unite the north and the south.” He looked off into the distance. “But that means my father…”

“Was Michael’s father,” Dean confirmed. “You’re brothers.”

Cas’s face twisted. “By blood only. And he _knew_. He must have. When I was his champion, he probably revelled in putting me in danger. He knew if I was killed, it was only removing someone who could take the throne from him.”

Dean stood up as well. He didn’t need any of Chevy’s abilities to see the anger radiating off Cas. “I told the rebel who had taken charge in Brydda’s absence. They know I’m taking you to Novakkeep, and are likely formulating a plan to roust Michael and kill him. They told me that you started the first resistance, even when you didn’t know who you were.”

“I didn’t like how Michael was leading, and I hated that I supported him. So I decided to do something, from the inside, to make a change. It didn’t work. The only that happened was that Michael killed my dragon and left me to run home like a wolf with his tail between his legs.” Cas’s voice was bitter.

“I think you changed a lot,” Dean said. “Without you, the current resistance wouldn’t exist. They are brave people who want a better life for everyone in this land.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “But they were talking about having votes for who would be the leader of the town, and the cities. How would that tie into supporting me?”

“You’ve already proven that you can and will want to dismantle things from the inside,” Dean pointed out. “From what I heard, they were eager to support you because it was a legitimate way forward, and because by doing it this way, it would prevent a civil war and long, drawn out bloodshed. They’re doing this because they want to stop the fighting.”

Cas ran his hands through his hair. “Even so,” he agreed. “But I doubt it will be as easy as that.”

“It might not be,” Dean said. “But it’s a start. Now we should eat this stew and get some rest. It’s a long journey to Novakkeep.”


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel dunked his head under the water, scrubbing at his hair with the soap reeds that they’d found by the edge of the river. Chevy had just returned from her daily hunting trip, and was sleeping in the clearing she’d made this morning by crashing through the trees. It hadn’t been a nice landing to experience.

They’d been travelling for ten days now, and the water here was icy cold. There was still snow on the ground, and Dean had pronounced him insane for even thinking about swimming. It was bracing, but with their portable heater, otherwise known as Chevy, he wasn’t particularly worried about getting sick.

He hadn’t been alone with someone for this amount of time in a long while, so the bath was also an excuse to have some time to himself. His initial judgements of Dean had been mostly correct – Dean was calm, kind, and competent. They had whiled away the day time hours together in several ways, whether it be foraging for food or sparring. Dean had told him about his childhood and about his brother, and how Michael had kidnapped him five years ago, to hold sway over first Dean’s father, and then Dean himself. In turn, Castiel had detailed how he had set up the beginnings of the rebel network – how he had found people who had shared his views, how he had kept his identity secret for fear that someone would tell Michael what he was doing. They had talked about northern traditions, Dean’s visits to the beach with his brother and mother when he was a child, about the time that Claire tried to bring a wolf cub home to raise as a pet.

They’d already gone searching for food this morning, and Dean had set up a few snares around their campsite. Castiel checked them as he travelled back, and found a rabbit in one, and a bloody smear in another – a fox had beaten them to the dinner they’d caught. Castiel reset them both, and carried the first rabbit back to the fire, which he could see flickering through the trees.

When he padded back to the campsite, Dean shook his head at him. “I still can’t believe you went for a bath.”

“I like to be clean,” Castiel huffed.

‘A sentiment I share,’ Chevy sent lazily. Castiel tried not to shudder as her thoughts touched his mind. ‘You/Dean should try it.’

“There’s no way I’m getting in that river,” Dean said fervently. His eyes alighted on the rabbit. “And I see you’ve bought our midnight snack!”

It was a frequent joke between them, that the day had flipped to the night. Castiel gave him the rabbit and settled against Chevy.

It was… strange, to be around a dragon again. Chevy kept her thoughts to herself most of the time, but Castiel would have had to be dead to miss the constant flow between her and Dean. Just being in their space for so long had sucked him into their communication more often than not, even though he knew that both Dean and Chevy could feel how his mind bucked and writhed against the contact. Castiel despised himself for the reaction, but neither Dean nor Chevy mentioned how twisted his mindscape probably felt.

Dean finished preparing the rabbit and arranged it over the coals of the fire. “We’re getting closer to Novakkeep. We’ll be there in three or four days.”

Castiel didn’t know what he felt at that declaration, so he said nothing. It was peaceful, flying with Chevy and Dean. There was nothing to think about besides what they were going to eat for that day, building a fire, and shelter from the elements. No responsibility. No future thoughts, where he had to think about how they were going to unseat Michael from his throne. Just peace. If only Grace was here…

Chevy snorted, and Castiel shrunk a little. He was leaning up against her, so she must have heard that last thought.

Dean abruptly stood up. “Chevy just suggested to me that I go and mind my business in the woods for a while,” he said wryly. “Along with a suggestion that I take a bath. I won’t go near the river, but I’ll stay out there for a while. Check the other snares.”

Castiel blinked after him as he left, then turned to look at Chevy.

‘Your mindscape/self is not as twisted/damaged as you suppose it to be,’ she sent. The eye he could see slid open, and fixed with unerring accuracy on him. ‘Only your own thoughts/inhibitions hold you back from freeflying once more.’

Castiel’s throat tightened. So she had noticed that he was taking no pleasure in their repeated flights. “It reminds me too much of my partner,” he said out loud, unable to think about touching minds with her.

Chevy’s eye stared at him, unblinking. ‘Bonded ones fall/journey to the longsleep. All must go there eventually.’

“Death is a part of life,” Castiel acknowledged. “But I held her too close to my heart. I can only fault myself for feeling this way.”

‘You hide/avoid your pain, but under it there is only anger/fear.’ She closed her eye. ‘He/Destroyer has his claws sunk deep in you.’

Castiel stood up, offended. “I have put Michael out of my mind.” She had sent a thoughtpicture of Michael along with her words, so he was certain who she was talking about.

‘You hide/avoid him/Destroyer,’ Chevy sent again, mindvoice gaining a touch of impatience. ‘It twists your mindscape. This is what you can feel when we merge/think together. You hide/avoid what is in front of you, which warps what should be straight.’

“I do not,” Castiel said, voice shaking.

‘Stupid funaga-li,’ Chevy sneered. ‘Only funaga could deny what is front of their nose/eyes.’

She closed her mind, and Castiel was left, standing in the snow, by himself. His stomach sunk as he considered her words, and remembered what Dean had said to him, in their first meeting.

He had been hiding from Grace’s memory, but – it was too painful. She had been so gentle, so patient and loving. He hadn’t deserved her.

‘What do the freefliers do when one journeys to the longsleep?’ Castiel asked gingerly.

Chevy said nothing for a long time. ‘It is different for every freeflier,’ she eventually sent. ‘A heartmate/partner often decides/directs what will happen. But you are not feeding on fresh grief/sorrow. Yours is an old hurt, infected/red. You are used to running/hiding from it.’

It was true, and Castiel knew it, but her words only seemed to lance the pain inside him. ‘So this is how it will be, forever?’ he wondered.

Chevy snorted. ‘All funaga think in such dire ways, thinking the worst that will/has happened. But all pain eases/leaves. Some with the longsleep. But yours is not burrowed/melded into your soul. Your  pain is only a way to hide/avoid him/the Destroyer.’

“I hate him,” Castiel said out loud. It felt wrong to pollute Chevy’s mind with such words. She snorted, flaming the air in front of her.

‘Even as we travel, you avoid/hide from thinking of what will happen/planning. Such is not the way of funaga – only another way to avoid/hide. Admit your loss and face your fear/anger. Your heartfire/soul is not burned out/dead yet. Only if you let it go will it leave, and you have clung/held to it.’

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Castiel said.

Chevy grumbled. ‘Only another way to hide/avoid. Face the fear/pain or lose yourself.’

Castiel stared at her, but Chevy’s mind was closed to him once more. He thought about what she had said.

He _was_ angry at Michael. But he hadn’t been able to do anything about it, so he had buried the rage inside him, and pretended it wasn’t there. Ignoring such a potent emotion could have only been bad, and Chevy had shown him how, clearly.

“I can do something now,” Castiel said to himself. “That is what we are doing. We are going to go to Novakkeep, I will tell everyone who I am, and then we will go and kill Michael.”

He had been hiding from himself for such a long time, that it felt strange to embrace what he was feeling. But she was right. Grace had always been right – had always been able to see things far more clearly than him.

For the first time since she had died, thinking about Grace didn’t feel like stabbing himself with a knife.

“I will do this thing,” Castiel vowed to himself. “I will do it for all the wrongs Michael has done, all the suffering he has caused. I will do it for Jimmy, and for Grace. But I will do it, also, for myself. Because it needs to be done. And I can do it.”

Feeling like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Castiel sunk to his knees, staring into the fire. At the back of his mind, he could feel Chevy’s approval. It no longer felt wrong to embrace her touch.

“Cas?”

Castiel looked up to see Dean standing on the other side of the clearing. “Chevy said I could come back,” he said. He looked unsure about what he should be feeling. Castiel stood up and strode towards him.

Dean jumped a little when Castiel kissed him, but it only took him a second to lean into hiss touch, a hand coming up to cup his jaw. Castiel twisted his hands in Dean’s shirt and thought: this is what I want. This is what I’ve been ignoring.

When he finally pulled away, Dean raised an eyebrow. “Have a good chat with Chevy?”

“You could say that,” Castiel said, satisfied.

Behind them, the great black dragon rumbled out a purr.

 

* * *

 

 “Silence!” Castiel roared.

The war room settled down, the people of Novakkeep looking jittery and unsettled. Well, what else could you expect when you tell them that their leader is also kind of the next in line for the throne, Castiel thought, a little frazzled.

“How certain are you?” Anna pressed, her eyes burning. No doubt she had recognised that this was what had gotten Jimmy killed.

“Certain,” Dean said from where he was standing opposite the table from Castiel. Castiel shot him a grateful look and let him explain how his people had found the breadcrumbs and followed them to the conclusion that they were sharing with the war room. Dean had already explained how he had found out from Charlie to Castiel, so Castiel could ignore his explanation to watch the reactions of those around him.

There had been quite the uproar when Castiel and Dean had landed outside Novakkeep on Chevy, but Castiel had calmed them all down. However, their ruckus had only reignited when he demanded an immediate meeting in the war room.

The room was filled with all the people in leadership roles in the keep, even those from the kitchens and stables. Castiel hadn’t wanted to leave anyone out of his reveal that he was blood kin to Michael.

They had taken it uneasily, but so had Castiel. He was dreading the inevitable outcry when they found why that was why Jimmy had been killed.

“We know for certain that Castiel is the son of the old king,” Dean said, drawing his attention back to the conversation. “And so was James. It was also why Michael killed James.”

Castiel didn’t even try to stop the yells that broke out at this declaration. He sighed softly and met Dean’s eyes.

Dean was definitely on the run now, and trusted Castiel when he said that no one at Novakkeep would tell anyone that he was here. Even so, Dean had insisted that Castiel would tell no one who he really was, even though Chevy was quite the giveaway. Castiel was far too grateful to refuse.

After about five minutes, where Castiel heard the promises of death grow ever louder and more detailed, he stood up on the table, glad that Claire was out hunting today so she couldn’t make fun of him later for being so dramatic.

“Silence!” Castiel yelled again. All eyes in the room turned to him. “Silence. Now, there are several option we have from here on out. We could do nothing. Or we could get revenge for my brother, and do what I know he always dreamt to do – unite the north and south, peacefully. What say you?”

“Aye!” Thirty voices said, almost in unison. Near Castiel’s feet, Anna stared up at him in consternation. He knew that she would disagree with any course of action that put him in danger.

“Okay then,” Castiel says. “Okay then! What next, then? What’s the course of action, if we are to get revenge?”

People looked at each other, muttering and shrugging. Castiel waved off a few suggestions of ‘run in and kill them’ because that wasn’t really going to work when Michael had an army of dragons to call out, who could demolish them handily.

“I think the answer is obvious,” Dean said, loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. As the room turned to look at him, Dean tilted his head up so that he could look Castiel in the eye. “We kill Michael.”

Dead silence met his comment. Castiel narrowed his eyes, but didn’t break eye contact with Dean.

“You can’t be serious,” Anna said, voice stuck somewhere between aghast and want.

“I am serious,” Dean said, eyes hard. “He deserves it. And if we kill him, the army and the nobles don’t have anyone to rally to besides Castiel, who is rightfully next in line.”

“You can’t support this,” Anna said, looking at Castiel.

Castiel tapped his foot against the table, conscious of all the eyes on him. Anna’s eyes were pleading, Dean’s were hard. Castiel was just glad that yet again, Claire wasn’t here to witness this.

There were probably good reasons for and against, but for Castiel the only thing that mattered was this: his twin’s body, already frozen to the ground as he was laid out on the forest floor. There was only one way that this was going to end after Castiel had made his oath by the body of his twin, acknowledging his death as a possible consequence.

“What the hell,” Castiel said. “Why not. Let’s do it.”

Anna’s eyes closed and Dean grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“This will not be an easy undertaking,” Castiel warned those assembled. “One of the most difficult is going to be keeping this quiet. I suspect that if Michael even suspects we are coming for him, we will have no chance.”

“We know how to keep quiet,” Samandriel piped up. “Our silence will be as the winter – cold, unforgiving, and harsh.”

There were mutters of agreement from everyone gathered. Dean clapped his hands together.

“Alright! Let’s get down to it, then. This is going to take quite a bit of planning – and I think we should bring the rebels in on it as soon as possible…”


	10. Chapter 10

Dean checked his gear one final time.

Sword: oiled, polished, sharpened. Deadly. Armour: light, but protective. Boots: solid, because _he is going to have to ride a horse._

He tried not to scowl too much at the thought. Just because horses couldn’t read his thoughts, had bumpy gaits and travelled so _slowly_ didn’t mean they weren’t valuable. He was going to ride one, so they were obviously useful.

He just missed Chevy.

He sighed, trying not to feel sorry for himself. He just hadn’t seen her in nearly _two months._ That was a long time for half your brain to be gone. He knew that he was sounding more and more dramatic each day, but that was just how he felt – he wanted to see her again. Plus, he was kinda worried that she would bond fully with Cas and leave him behind. These days, she seemed to prefer his company over Dean’s. Not that Dean could blame her – Cas was _pretty_ good company.

Well, if everything went well today, he would see them both. Dean smiled grimly and walked out of his cottage, swirling his dark cloak around his shoulders. Time for action.

There was just enough sunlight left in the day to lead him through the streets and out of the small town. He could see other shadows darting in the same direction as him, and knew them for allies. This town had been ravaged by Michael – they had been happy to offer shelter in the weeks leading up to the big night. Tonight. It didn’t feel quite real.

The stable where the horses were kept had also seen abuse by Michael – or rather, his guards. The owner’s son had been beaten to death when he had tripped into one of the patrols. No other reason.

Outside, a gathering of people showed that Dean was probably late. Too many last minute checks. But nothing could go wrong today. Not after everything that they’d done to get this far.

“Dean!” He turned at the sound of a voice and smiled at Brydda. The big man had done more than anyone in organising the rebellion. Dean was just involved with the logistics of Cloudkeep – Brydda had monitored and decided on plans for every major city in the south. “Ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Dean admitted. “It doesn’t feel real – I can’t believe this is actually happening now, tonight.”

Brydda grinned. “Well, I can! I’ve been waiting for this day for years. And I intend for it to go well. Have you received word from our comrades in the north? Did Castiel find what he needed?”

Cas’s missives aren’t very direct – Dean knows that he’s worried about them being intercepted. “If I read his code right, then yes, he did.”

“Good. And our allies on the inside?”

Dean nodded. “They’re ready, and waiting on our signal.”

“Well, let’s give it to them,” Brydda said, pleased. “Everyone, fall in!”

There was a final rush as everyone found a buckle to adjust. Dean found his horse, a bay mare, and climbed into the saddle. “Even mounting is more difficult on a horse,” he muttered. The mare flicked an ear back at him, and Dean patted her shoulder, trying to send her reassuring thoughts. She snorted and locked him out of her mind. Sighing, Dean turned his attention to Brydda.

“Comrades, friends! Tonight we have what we most desire – a chance to change the regime, a chance to make this land a better place. Everything we have been working for is in place – all our plans have been laid, and now we only have to execute them. You all know the goal of tonight – capturing or killing Michael Seliph. We have allies on the inside, and we know his movements. There is someone to replace him who has vowed, in front of your all, to abolish the monarchy. We shall give Castiel his crown, and he shall smelt it down for the good of all. We have the northern nobles support, and the southern nobles are divided. This is our chance to strike, while the iron is hot, and change is possible. Are you with me!?”

“YES!”

Dean added his voice to the chorus. He could feel the energy in the clearing – Brydda knew how to talk to people to get them fired up, and Dean was no different. He was so tired of living everyday constantly looking over his shoulder, first in the palace and then on the run. But he could end it all, tonight. He was ready.

Despite Brydda’s speech, nothing dramatic happened at first. They all set off, and Dean made a headcount – thirty three people, including Brydda and himself. Big enough to take down any patrol they met, but small enough to move quickly in the darkness that had settled over the land as they moved towards Cloudkeep.

The horses were necessary only because of the amount of ground they had to cover. As soon as they got onto the main road, the group fell into their travelling formation and spurred their horses to a canter. While it might be satisfying to gallop, a slow, consistent pace would serve them better this night.

After five hours and two breaks, they round the corner of a valley and see Cloud Mountain in front of them. Dean can see the lantern lights at the peak that denoted the castle. They’d timed it so that they would arrive at the castle an hour or two before dawn, and Dean was glad to see that so far everything was going to schedule. He knew that it wouldn’t happen as they got closer to their destination.

The hours trickled by, and then Dean took the lead. When he found the bottom of the secret escape tunnel, he wasn’t surprised when he found that the lock had been changed. But they had prepared for this – one of the rogues whipped out her lock pick and got to work. But if she couldn’t crack it, Dean had a big hammer waiting to be used.

Half an hour later, and the door was open – quietly. The woman wiped sweat off her brow as everyone crowded around to give muted congratulations. Silently, everyone got into their groups of four, formulated so that they could act swiftly and independently once inside. Eight groups of four, with one person who had come along to stay outside and care for the horses.

Dean was leading his group, consisting of the lock picking rogue, a young man with a bow, and an older woman with heavy armour and a claymore. He gave a smile to them as they formed up around him.

“Here goes nothing,” muttered the archer, Garth. “Don’t suppose we can improve our plans anymore. We either go in or chicken out. We either win or we lose. There’s only one way to find out.”

“Only one way, indeed,” Dean said. “Are you all ready?”

They nodded. Dean turned to face Brydda as did the other captains. “All ready.”

Brydda looked over them all. “Good. Dean, your group goes first. We’ll give you twenty minutes head start so you can give the signal, and then we’ll follow. Good luck.”

Dean nodded, and set off down the tunnel.

 

* * *

 

The tunnel was longer than he remembered. Okay, so he’d only been down here once, about three years ago, but still. It was going on forever.

“This tunnel does end, right?” Annie said. Her armour clanked loudly as she walked.

“Of course it does,” Kate muttered. She was silent, her leathers lending her stealth. “It has to end. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t blame you for thinking that,” Dean admitted. “I’ve only been down here once, and it didn’t seem so long. But there is an end.”

Sure enough, Dean saw the glimmering of the light at the end of the tunnel. “Almost there,” he said, almost to himself rather than to his companions.

He opened the tunnel door – easy to do because you could unlock it from the inside – and eased it open. Standing opposite the door was a guard.

Dean nodded to Charlie, who nodded back. She smiled at him, and Dean could tell that she was barely restraining herself from throwing her arms around him. “I’ve missed you,” she hissed. “Everything’s ready to go. I’ll send the order.”

Dean nodded and his group secreted themselves in a nearby storeroom. Relieved that nothing tremendously wrong yet, he shook the tension out of his shoulders.

“Glad we’ve made it this far, but I’m waiting for the hammer to drop,” Annie admitted. Garth nodded.

“Yes, you can tell that there’s going to be a shitshow. Waiting for it is the worst part.”

The tension in the room was obvious. When Charlie knocked for a second before entering, all four of them tensed up.

“Things are set in motion,” she murmured. “Guards that we know will be against us have been captured, and most are lying tied in in their beds. I don’t think we’ve altered the people I couldn’t get to, but the kitchen staff probably know something’s happening.”

“The kitchen staff always know when something’s happening,” Dean said sagely. “Have Brydda and the others come through yet?”

“No,” Charlie said, and Dean nodded, chewing his lip.

“They should be here soon. Direct them in here so we can regroup.”

Another few minutes pass, before the door opens again and the rest of the rebels begin to come in. Charlie closes the door as all of them make it inside.

“I can’t believe we’re actually in the palace,” a young man muttered.

“Without Dean it would have been impossible,” Brydda agreed. “But with him, many doors have opened up. Are we ready for the next stage of the plan?”

This was where it was going to get ugly. Each team had a different objective, that they would start once the chaos down in the town had begun. Those rebels were already in place, another plan set in motion by Brydda.

Almost as if his thought had summoned it, Dean heard a great cry rise up from the city below.

“Fire!”

The rebels all looked at each other grimly, knowing that that was the signal for the start of the raid on the keep. The fire would hopefully draw guards away from the keep, but it would also wake nearly all of them up, besides the ones Charlie had organised to be ‘sleeping.’

Time for action, Dean thought to himself, and stood to direct his team.

 

* * *

 

Panting, Dean took cover around the corner of a corridor as an arrow shot by his head.

“You right there?” Garth yelled as he leant around to return fire.

“Just peachy,” Dean said, squinting in the low light. Garth had shot out the lantern, and now neither side could see each other very well. Dean missed Chevy’s superior senses.

Another arrow flew past, Garth only just ducking in time. “You gotta listen for the bowstring,” he said conversationally, as if they were training and not in the middle of a battle that could get them killed. “When you hear that, you gotta duck.”

The arrow and the sound of the bowstring firing were pretty much in the same god damned instant, so Dean had no idea what Garth was talking about. But he wasn’t going to argue about it with him here. Down the other end of the hallway, Annie was fighting someone else – Dean could hear the clashing of metal. Kate had fallen two corridors ago – she’d been scouting ahead, and had received an arrow to the throat for her troubles. They were only about half way to their goal of the stables – they had to lock down the stables so no riders could come in and lead the dragons against them. No, there were other plans for the dragons tonight.

Garth shot off another arrow, and Dean heard it hit. Both of them waited for a follow up, but there was silence ahead of them. Annie came up behind them, having won her duel.

“We have to push on,” Dean said, and they did so. 

Only to round the corner and come face to face with Michael himself.

Dean had thought the light was coming from a mounted lantern, but instead Michael’s personal guards carried them. Their eyes met, and Michael’s narrowed.

“You,” Michael said, hate seeping into the word. “Kill him.”

Dean shoved Garth behind him and Annie stepped up smoothly to fill the small corridor. With two of them, they could fill the space nicely. Similarly, Michael’s personal guard could only come at them two at a time.

Dean knew most of the people in Michael’s personal guard. They weren’t evil – they just supported it. He had known that there was no way that any of them could be converted to the rebels cause. All of Michael’s guard was hand-picked, and all were insanely loyal.

They knew him too, which is why none of them looked happy to fight him. Dean lunged forward to attack, wanting all the space he could get. Annie stepped forward to fight beside him – for the last month, when they weren’t plotting as to how to get into the castle, Dean and Annie had been training together. Now was the time to see if it would pay off.

Dean jumped back out of reach of a sword, then flicked his own around to disarm the man in front of him by severing the tendons in his wrist. Annie clove her sword down in an overhand strike that near cut the man she was fighting in two.

Dean parried, lunged, slipped on a pool of blood and went down for a second, where he sliced at the joint between the armoured legs and boots of his opponent. A lucky strike, and he twisted out of the way of her sword as she went down, yelling. Dean sprung back up, now thoroughly covered in floor-blood, and pushed forward.

Annie was more of a tank than he was, and was taking more hits. Dean tended to dodge where he could, but Annie parried or let the swords glance off her armour. Dean cut down the next man, only to find that Michael and the last two guards had fled.

“Damn him,” Dean said, gritting his teeth. “I’m going after him.”

“That’s not the objective,” Garth pointed out. “We should follow the plan.”

“I know, but we didn’t know where Michael would be. That’s the whole point of the incursion, to kill him.”

“Or capture him,” Annie said.

“Kill him,” Dean said grimly. “I won’t let him inflict any more damage than he’s already done.”

Garth and Annie looked at each other. “I hit one of the fleeing guards,” Garth said. “We can follow the blood trail.”

Dean nodded, and together they ran down the hall, away from the stables.

Garth followed the blood, and Dean and Annie followed him. Together they sprinted down corridors, until Dean realised a second too late that they were about to emerge into the main hall.

Dean skidded to a stop as they came into the hallway, and the attention of fifty soldiers turned to them. Standing on the steps in the middle of them was Michael. Dean only realised now that he was armed, a long, thin sword at his side.

“Dean,” Michael said, satisfaction dripping off his tongue. “Is this really the best you can do? I’m almost glad you killed the others. Now I can see you killed myself. Fitting, isn’t it?” Dean snarled at his, gesturing for Garth and Annie to get behind him.

“No?” Michael said. “How about another Winchester, then?”

Dean’s heart was caught in his throat as a guard pulled Sam out of one of the recesses. His brother was healthy and – tall? Did he get fucking taller? How?

“Hmm, what a conundrum,” Michael tutted. “Which should we kill? How about I make a deal with you, Dean. If you kill those rebel scum, then apologise at my feet and kill yourself, I’ll think about letting your brother live. Or we could start killing him now, nice and slow.”

The guard holding Sam drew a knife. Sam bucked against the hold, and Dean saw that he must be bound as well as gagged.

“Was this really the entirety of your plan?” Michael scoffed. “A pitiful distraction down in the town? How were you planning on keeping control if this pitiful rebellion worked? You know the southern nobles will only answer to a true born king.”

“We know,” Dean said boldly. Hell, he had nothing to lose but his and Sam’s life, and he’d already resigned himself to dying a long time ago. “We accounted for that.”

Michael laughed. “So what, you were going to use me as a figurehead?”

“No,” Dean said. “We were going to kill you and put your brother in your place.”

The guards around Michael shifted, and Michael’s face went flinty. “There is no proof that I have any siblings,” he said loftily.

“Actually there is,” Dean rebutted headily. “Castiel Seliph is your younger brother. Both of you have the same father. And Castiel found a document left by his mother, with your father’s seal and signature, saying that the twins Castiel and James Novak were of his own blood.”

“LIES!” Michael screamed. “Pitiful lies! I will kill you slowly for that blasphemy, you filth. Now, seize them!”

Dean smiled slowly as he heard what he’d been waiting for, a rhythmic sound coming from outside the hall. “Oh, this wasn’t our entire plan. Not at all.”

The guards stopped dead in their tracks as a dragon bellows fiercely from outside the hall, a rush of dragon wings filling the air.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel leaned down on Chevy’s neck, trusting her ability to fly in the dark. His clothes itched a little, but they felt right – Dean had given them to him before he’d left Novakkeep, saying that Jimmy had ordered them in Cloudtown. The royal colours of red and gold felt strange, but right, in a weird way. Castiel thought that it might just be because it felt like Jimmy was watching over his shoulder as he led the charge.

‘Do you smell the traitor/leader?’ Castiel asked Chevy, their mind link still new and raw. They had come to an understanding, but Castiel knew that she preferred Dean as a rider. Castiel could hardly blame her – he liked Dean quite a lot as well.

‘He/Destroyer is here,’ Chevy said, trumpeting her finding to the horde of dragons they were leading.

Castiel looked over his shoulder at them. None had riders. For almost two months, he and Chevy had been convincing the dragons, one by one, that they had to help overthrow Michael. It hadn’t been easy, but they all remembered Grace, and they remembered Castiel from when he was their flightleader. Once Castiel had shown them all that Michael was at fault for her death and for his casting out, they had been happy to rid themselves of Michael. It had almost been harder to hold them back and wait for the right time. Dragons were into direct action.

‘Go to him, then,’ Castiel prompted, and Chevy landed on the roof of the main hall. Castiel hung on tight as she started ripping into it, sending chunks of rock flying. Other dragons did the same, while some perched on other towers or circled overhead.

The roof began to give way, and some of the dragons took off, but Chevy kept digging. She tucked her wings in close as the roof fell, riding her debris down to the floor. As the dust settled, she let out a roar, and Castiel sat upright on her back and added his voice to the call.

Castiel looks down to see an array of guards teeming around the sides of the hall, but Michael is standing on the stairs that were not under the roof that had fallen. Even from here, Castiel can see how his eyes glitter with hate.

Chevy spots him as well, and they both stand there, staring him down.

‘Chevy, if you would,’ Castiel asked politely.

Chevy marched up to the stairs, reached her head out and swallowed Michael in one gulp.

The guards stare. Castiel stared. He spotted Dean, who was also staring.

“Well!” Castiel started. “That was easier than expected. I am Castiel Seliph, your new king. Please lower your weapons.”

Another few seconds of silence persisted as everyone accepted that Michael had just been eaten by a dragon.

“You can’t just come in here and declare yourself king!” A voice from the crowd of guards yelled.

“Why not?” Castiel asked. “Michael killed my brother, so I killed him. A family spat. Now everyone’s even and the throne is empty, and last time I looked, Michael didn’t have any children.”

An awkward silence descended. Someone coughed.

“I know where the crown is,” Dean said cheerfully. “We should grab it before anyone else does. Chevy, stay here and eat anyone who steps out of line, please.”

Chevy snorted as Castiel slid down her side. Together, he and Dean slipped down a passageway.

“Things aren’t over yet,” Castiel said.

“Obviously,” Dean replied. “But we should probably get that crown. It’s more symbolic than anything, but with it, people will treat you more legitimately.”

“I think we surprised them,” Castiel admitted.

“Any warrior’s greatest weapon,” Dean said easily. Castiel laughed.

Michael’s rooms were locked, but Dean kicked the door in. Sure enough, the crown was resting where Castiel had last seen in, on a pedestal in the anti-chamber. Dean picked it up, then presented it to him.

“Kneel, my liege,” Dean said seriously.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Castiel sighed, but did so. Dean settled the crown gently on his head.

“With this crown, I name you, Castiel Seliph Novak, king of this land. Do you swear to protect it, even with your dying breath?”

“I do,” Castiel told him.

“Then rise, and get ready to command, because it’s going to be chaotic out there.”

Castiel stood, and Dean stared at him for a moment. “Wow,” he eventually said. “You really look the part. I’m glad you’re wearing those clothes I got you.”

“I like them, and it keeps Jimmy close,” Castiel admitted. Dean nodded.

“Well, now we have to go out and do him proud, and get this castle under our control.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel stood on the balcony of what used to be Michael’s chambers, turning the crown around in his hands. The balcony overlooked the countryside – you couldn’t see the rest of the castle or the town below from this vantage point.

The sun was setting. It had taken them the rest of the day to settle down everyone in the castle, locking up those who hadn’t accepted the change in regime. Castiel hoped they would come around eventually. After all, there was no going back. Michael’s line had ended – Castiel, and Claire, were the only ones of royal blood left remaining.

Not that it mattered. Castiel looked down at the crown. It was gold, and the setting sun flashed it so it looked molten. Blue and red and green gems were set in the metal, which only made it look gaudy, in Castiel’s opinion. Soon enough, it wouldn’t be relevant anymore. Brydda was receiving reports that the strategic places the rebels had targeted were being captured. Some towns were having troubles, and one city in the east had repelled the rebel attack. But Castiel was sure that eventually, all would fall to the rebels influence, and Brydda could set up the ‘elections’ that he had been dreaming of and refining for years. Castiel was just glad that he wouldn’t have to be king permanently.

The only thing he had to worry about now was one of the nobles trying to say they had more royal blood than Castiel and then starting a civil war. Michael’s death had left a vacuum, but Castiel was fairly sure that the rebels had mostly filled it. The only problem was that the southern nobles could still cause problems. The northern ones too, but there was no chance of any of them trying to overthrow him – trying to secede, probably, but that’s about it. And then there was the problem of Purgatory and their other neighbours. Castiel didn’t want an _actual_ war any more than he wanted a civil one. The last war he had fought in had been more than enough, thank you very much.

“Hey there,” a voice said from behind him.

Castiel turned. “Not announcing your presence to the king?” he asked, in what he hoped came across as a joke.

Dean smiled. “Who’s doing the announcing? You’ve got one guard outside your door and she won’t move for love or money. Besides, I figured you wouldn’t mind.” Dean came up beside him and seemed surprised to see he was holding the crown. “What are you doing with that?”

“Thinking about the best way to destroy it, honestly,” Castiel admitted. “A part of me just wants to throw it off this cliff.”

“Well, that’s not really practical,” Dean said. “Besides, someone might find it.”

“That’s what I thought as well,” Castiel replied. “So now I’m thinking in front of a crowd. A big one.  Bash it in with a hammer, or stick it in a big fire, do you think?”

“A hammer,” Dean said. “More poetic.”

Castiel frowned. “I thought the fire would be more poetic.”

“Nah. You ever seen someone destroy something you hate? That’s the real bliss.”

Castiel laughed. “If you say so. So a hammer. I could do that.”

“You thinking about anything else, or just destruction?” Dean smirked.

Castiel sighed. “About the future, and what will happen now. Worried that one of the nobles are going to rally others to their side and start a civil war that we worked so hard to prevent.”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed. “Yeah, it’s a problem. Most of them are inter-married enough to claim some royal blood, but I don’t think anyone has more than half like you.”

“Thanks,” Castiel said dryly.

“So, uniting the north and south. It’s a tall order.” Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye slyly.

“What?” Castiel asked, already knowing that Dean had some plan that Castiel was probably going to scoff at then agree to.

“Well, the traditional thing to do would be to marry some southern noble.”

Castiel looked at him. Dean looked back. “You have a candidate in mind?” Castiel asked flatly.

“Sure do,” Dean said, winking. “This guy standing right here.”

Castiel stared at him. “You know, you could have asked me out on a date like a normal person.”

“Hey, sometimes you just gotta take risks in life, Cas,” Dean said, shrugging. “So, what do you think?”

Castiel tried not to smile. “I think you should come here.”

Dean stepped over, and Castiel tilted his head so they could kiss. Castiel sighed against his mouth.

“So is that a yes?” Dean asked, smiling widely.

Castiel laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Good, because I have some thoughts about the drapery in the guest rooms of the castle, I’ve always hated them and redecorating is basically mandatory when you steal a crown, right?”

Castiel shook his head in exasperation. And this was the man he wanted to marry. “I’m all ears, Dean. Tell me what drapery you’d like in the guest rooms.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That was quite a ride to write in a month, ha. I hope you enjoyed this story of dragons and kings as much as I did writing it! Many thanks to dogsled for the beautiful art that I love very much (like seriously, did you see the pic of Chevy?? How amazing!!) If you liked this fic, tell me what you think in the comments ;)


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